32 Short Tales About Alagaesia
by JoeMerl
Summary: Angry gods. Weird shippings. Idiotic Ra'zac. Shades eating cheezeburgers. Come on, what more could you possibly want in an "Inheritance" fic? I mean, you know...besides character development or a plot? Chapter 28: "Screw You, Elves!"
1. Togira un Koma

Chapter One

Togira un Koma; or, The Cripple and His Whore

Queen Islanzadi, the majestic and beautiful ruler of Du Weldenvarden, lay sprawled out on her bed in Tialdari Hall, panting lightly. "Oh…Oromis," she said, turning to him, "that was amazing." She turned back, staring at the ceiling. "Ooh…I've missed that. You know I haven't been with a man since Evandar died in the war."

"I myself have never been with a woman before today," Oromis said wistfully.

Islanzadi sat up slightly, holding the covers to her breasts, turning back to him. "Really?" she said, slightly surprised. "You were a virgin?"

"Well…no. Not exactly."

"Then what did…oh," Islanzadi said, laying her head against the pillow again, her brow slightly furrowed. "Ugh. Well, whatever. We elves don't care about that sort of thing, being as enlightened and liberal as we all are. The point was, that was some good sex."

"Yes," he agreed, in his usual solemn tone.

Islanzadi sighed, laying her head against his chest. "Ah, Oromis, let us just lay here together, basking in the wonder and intimacy of this moment."

"Well…um, actually, I have to go." He looked over onto Islanzadi's nightstand, at one of those alarm-clock-like devices he gave Eragon which don't really make sense, given the Inheritance Trilogy's medieval setting.

"Why, darling?" Islanzadi asked, startled as he sat up in the bed.

"Oh, I have a date tonight," he explained. He sat on the right side of the bed and began to pull on his pants, covering that hairless groin which Eragon had found so darn fascinating. Islanzadi, meanwhile, looked scandalized, her mouth wide open in shock.

"A DATE?! You have a DATE?!"

"Um, yeah. With that blonde chick with the dragon tattoo."

"But we just fcked!"

"Well, yeah," he admitted, walking across the room to take his shirt off of a chair, pulling it over his head, "but we're elves. I mean, yes, we did play slap and tickle, but we elves can mate 'for a day or for a century.' I'm just picking the former."

"But…but…" Islanzadi was frantic. "But you said you loved me! In the Ancient Language!"

"Well, yes," he admitted, turning his head to one side, "…but you didn't notice I was looking at your breasts at the time, did you?"

Islanzadi's jaw dropped. "Anyway, I have to go," Oromis said, turning to the door. "Maybe I'll call you later, babe," he added, retreating from the room.

Islanzadi continued to look stunned for a moment, before her face contorted to a look of angry, seething rage. _"Brisingr!"_ she screamed, motioning with her hand toward the doorway he had departed from.

There was a whoosh of flames from the hallway, followed by screams. "Agh! Agh, it burns! O sweet, nonexistent gods, agh!"

"Suddenly I see that story about the Menoa Tree in a totally different light," Islanzadi muttered, crossing her arms over her chest, pouting as she listened to Oromis' agonized screams in the hallway.


	2. A Jihad Not to be Confused with

Note to readers: Okay, first of all, as I should have said in the first chapter, I don't own Paolini's work, this is merely a parody, yada yada yada. Secondly, this chapter concerns issues of religion in Inheritance, examined philosophically, psychologically and literarily. I don't think it's offensive, but if you're the kind of person who gets offended very easily, please don't read this. It will just make you angry, and keep in mind: anger is (to theists) a sin and (to atheists) something that will increase your blood pressure and cause early heart attacks. And I don't want hate-mail. L

Also, all these stories will not be about the elves, after this chapter I'll get something new.

Chapter Two A Jihad (Not to Be Confused With "Ajihad")

It was the night of the Dagshelgr Invocation, and though Islanzadi did not feel like celebrating, she nevertheless had the queenly duty to go. With everybody scurrying around, getting ready for the festivities, Islanzadi called out that the time was nigh and for all to take their places around the Menoa Tree. Islanzadi herself took her place on a particularly tall root; Oromis, his body covered with bandages, stood nearby.

"Well, I see you survived," she muttered out of the corner of her mouth. Oromis grimaced.

At that point it was the time to begin the ceremony, so Islanzadi forgot her enmity towards him—you'll notice Inheritance characters tend to forget emotions very quickly, I mean, Eragon finding out Morzan was his father made him angsty for what, two paragraphs?—and turned to her elfin followers. "Let the Dagshelgr Invocation begin!" she called.

Now, as you'll remember from Chapter 25 of Eldest, the Dagshelgr Invocation is a tradition in Du Weldenvarden, where elves sing in the Ancient Language to make all the trees grow, the animals propagate, etc. While we don't actually see the ritual taking place, it is much like the Agaeti Blodhren—yeah, you remember what that was like.

So all of these weird mystical hippie-elves started singing in their magical tongue, calling on all the animals and trees and dirt and monkeys (yes, there are monkeys in Du Weldenvarden, didn't you know that?) to come out and grow and multiply, meanwhile all the elves started to come out (of their clothes), grow (parts of them, anyway), and did things that would lead to multiplication for all the elfin maidens who had forgotten to take their magical pills that day. Islanzadi looked on sourly as Oromis managed to charm both of those two identical-except-for-their-hair sisters into taking off their clothes, and he seemed very intent on admiring their dragon tattoo. (Okay, I brought emotion back into the story—guess I'm not as good at that as Paolini.)

Anyway, a few minutes into the ritual, with all the elves singing and dancing and doing other things which I shan't describe in any more detail, suddenly the sky turned black, the moon and stars vanished, a bolt of thunder rent the heavens, and the earth began to shake.

"AGH!"

The elves stopped their singing and dancing and other activities, screaming at the sudden shock; some of the more inebriated ones called, "Hey! Turn those tunes back up!" The lightning was gone, and the earth stopped quaking after a moment, but the sky remained dark.

"Oh, crap, what is it now?" Islanzadi mumbled, putting a hand to her forehead.

Suddenly, another quake. BOOM! Pause; another. BOOM! Everyone was startled, racing around, trying to figure out what was the problem.

BOOM! BOOM! The shakes were becoming harder—closer. People continued to freak out. And then…then…the source of the rumbling emerged through the treetops.

They were—if I may be oxymoronic—giant dwarves.

You could tell they were dwarves by the bodily proportions—humans weren't as stocky—but they were quite large, so large that they moved aside trees as they walked. Even their size aside they were bizarre—one had red skin, fire for hair, and caused plants to burn and crumble as he walked. Next to him, floating in the air, was a dwarf that had no legs, but a kind of genie tail that spun like a tornado, kicking up fallen leaves. One seemed entirely made of stone, a walking golem. Two were women, one of them extra large and made of soil and dirt, the other apparently made of ice, with water flowing from her as she moved. In the very middle was a huge dwarf male, biggest of all, with glaring eyes and a look of rage.

Amidst the screams of the elves, this larges dwarf boomed, "I AM GUNTERA, KING OF THE GODS, (and kudos, by the way, to the readers who guessed that in advance), AND I DEMAND TO KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON HERE IN MY FOREST!"

"What do you mean, your forest?" Oromis demanded, coming up angrily from the crowd. "And who are you to come here and try to cock-block me?"

"Weren't you listening?" the giant asked irascible. He cleared his throat and bellowed again, "I AM GUNTERA, KING OF THE GODS, AND I DEMAND TO KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON HERE IN MY FOREST!"

"Oh yeah?" Oromis sneered. "Well, we elves don't believe in gods! We're far too smart and logical for that! We would only believe in a higher power if one came forward and presented itself to us."

There was a pause, wherein Guntera stared at him blankly. Morgothal raised an eyebrow; Urur put a hand to his face and shook his head, as if he were embarrassed for the idiotic little elf. Even a few of the smarter elves looked amazed, while Oromis stood there proudly, as if he had made the most clever comment ever.

Finally, Urur (the floating air god) cleared his throat. "Anyway…the point is, we are sick of you elves and your weird, drugged-up hippie orgies! We're here to make you focus on more important things…like WORSHIPPING US!" These last words he screamed, causing a tremendous blast of wind throughout the clearing.

"Or for that matter, dealing with that, you know, huge continent-wide war that's going on outside of your special magical forest," Morgothal (the fire-god) added.

"Excuse me." Vanir—you know, that annoying, racist elf Eragon kept fighting in Eldest—came out from the crowd. "Um, who are you to tell us what to do? You're dwarf-gods, not elves'. What right do you have to order us around, or to call Du Weldenvarden 'your' forest?"

"Well…there's the fact that I CREATED THE UNIVERSE!" Guntera bellowed. "Including elves, I might add! I brought you into this world—and the world into existence—and I can underdo it like that if you dare challenge me."

"Oh yeah? Go ahead and try," Vanir challenged, arms crossed over his chest.

Guntera sighed, rolling his eyes to the heavens. Then he pointed casually at Vanir. At that point the dark storm clouds that had brewed overhead let loose a massive blast of electricity, several times thicker than the average thunderbolt, which hit with such force that it shattered several nearby tree trunks and caused the elves to jump back in shock. A moment later a very charred and ashy Vanir lay on the ground, sputtering.

"Owie," he muttered, as everything but his eyeballs crumbled to dust in a very cartoonish fashion.

"So much for immortality," the earth-goddess Sindri muttered behind her hand to Kilf the water-queen. Kilf chuckled, a few pieces of ice falling from her body as she did.

"As I was saying," Guntera said offhandedly, "we gods have come to reestablish our worship in Du Weldenvarden. Frankly we're appalled by the way Paolini wrote this place. I mean, a civilization without a religion—it's just plain ridiculous!"

"Excuse me," Islanzadi said, a little testily, "are you trying to piss off all the atheists who might stumble across this story? Surely you do not want JoeMerl to be getting hate mail for being some kind of religious fanatic."

"You don't understand," Morgothal said, waving his hand in exasperation; his bright orange arm left a trail in its wake to make the eyes throb. "If Paolini wants to make a point about religion being bad or false, that's fine—of course its his right, as an author and just as a person, even if we don't agree with him. (Gods are rarely atheist, after all.) But if you're going to do it, at least do it well. Even some atheist readers will tell you the arguments he made in Eldest were badly written—they were only superficial reflection of atheists' principles, and written in a way that felt jarring and out-of-place. I mean, it barely even ties in with the story—it was like, story going on, cut, insert discussion about the merits of atheism, cut, resume story with some minor attempts to sew the sections together. He actually did a better job in Eragon, with the Helgrind cult—he made up a religion, which in some ways related to real creeds, and pointed out how illogical it was. A civilization that is just entirely atheist is completely unrealistic."

"That's right," Urur agreed. "It shows a lack of understanding in basic human nature—every society, from the greatest empires to the smallest tribes, have had some version of a religion. It just doesn't develop, a society where absolutely no one believes in some kind of supernatural being. The closest thing that's every come to that are Communist China or Russia, and those were artificial, with atheism forced on the populace and religious movements still going on underground. The idea of atheism didn't even start developing until the Enlightenment, when science had already begun to explain things that faith could not, and didn't really begin to become widespread for another century or two. And he expects us to believe an entire society could be atheist in a medieval setting, when it doesn't even happen in the modern, scientific world!"

"Hell, not even we're that realistic," Helzvog added. "I mean, we far as Paolini indicates, we're the only dwarven gods. I mean, what religion has six gods? A religion either has dozens or hundreds of them—representing all the facets of life and nature—or one, symbolizing the unity of all things. Perhaps a Trinity, as in Christianity or Hinduism, but even those are in some ways more a form of monotheism. But we're six deities. I mean, where's the god of storms? The god of plants and agriculture? Where are the minor deities, like the nymphs or satyrs or jotun?"

"Now wait just a minute," Islanzadi said, putting up a finger. "I don't necessarily agree with what you're saying. You're looking at this issue the wrong way."

Helzvog raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Well, first of all, you say that societal religion is part of human nature, and you're right—well, partly, in that societal human nature seems to foster the belief in deities; groups of people together tend to form religions or dogma. But you must keep in mind that elves are not human. When Eragon enters Arya's mind in the first book, he notes that some her emotions seem strange and alien, and later, Arya mentions that elves have a nature different than either dwarves or humans. Just because they tend to develop religion doesn't mean elves do."

An interesting "hmm" came from a nodding Guntera.

"Furthermore," Islanzadi continued, "you point out yourself that as science and the standard of living have gone up in the modern world, religion has gone down. You must keep in mind that we elves are very scientific—we know things about science that real people didn't know about in the Middle Ages, or even the Enlightenment."

"You got that right," Sindri muttered. "I mean, elves using words like 'exoskeleton?'"

"In addition," the queen continued, "we elves live a life that is, frankly, better than that of modern people. We use magic for everything; we're even better off than people in the modern world, because unlike them, we don't even have to have jobs or anything, we just lounge around all day doing whatever we want. And unlike humans, who worry about death and have a psychological desire for an afterlife, we live forever, so don't need to worry about that as much. From a purely sociological or psychological view, we don't need religion. In that regard Paolini was actually rather clever to come up with Du Weldenvarden as an areligious society, because all the things that encourage religious faith are gone."

The gods all considered that for a moment; they seemed rather stunned by Islanzadi's thinking. "That actually makes some sense," Helzvog said, nodding.

But Urur again gesticulated angrily. "Oh yeah? Well, answer me this—Paolini claims that the soul cannot exist without the body; when the body dies, the spirit just—pop!—ceases to be. But he also says that there are spirits floating around, waiting to conjured by sorcerers—we even see some when Durza is killed! Now how does it make sense that these spirits can exist, if supposedly souls cannot exist without bodies?!"

"And why does Angela mention necromancy—the ability to summon spirits of the dead—in Eragon, if the spirits of the dead cease to exist after death?" Kilf added.

Islanzadi blinked. "Well—uh—"

"That's just what I'm saying," Sindri interjected. "I mean, we're expected to suspend our belief for magic and elves and dragons and evil spirits, but somehow when you talk about gods, now you're just being silly."

"The point is," Guntera interrupted, "whether or not an atheistic society of elves makes sense or not, we're gods, ergo, you're wrong. Now start building us our temple!"

"Never!" Oromis shouted. He turned to his fellow elves and raised his fist in the air. "Come on! We can fight off these stupid, illogical gods! They're powerless if you don't believe in them!"

Guntera pointed; lightning flashed again and vaporized Oromis. "That's fairies, you idiot," the god muttered. Then, looking back at the elves, "So, as I was saying, build our temple! Come on. That's right."

The elves, grumbling, got up and began to walk toward the forest, cutting down trees with their magic to construct the dwarf gods a temple. Thus is proven the old lesson: being immortal is cool, but the immortals with the power to control big-ass lightning bolts are ultimately better. 


	3. Everybody Loves Ra'zac!

Chapter Three

Everybody Loves Ra'zac

_Whoosh…whoosh…_

The two beasts flew, giant but nearly silent in the dark night. Two foul Lethrblakas—gigantic, bat-like demons with insectoid eyes and hideous claws, flew along, and mounted on their back where two dark forms, hideous monsters of black crusty exoskeleton, hidden beneath black cloaks.

The taller of the two Ra'zac, the monstrous Krashnarathar, hissed in a soft, deadly wheeze, "My father, Ssssaronasssigan, thissss issss the placcce; let uss down now, or we will be clossse enough to the village to be ssseen."

"Wissse, my sssson," his mount said in Ra'zacese, spreading his wings to glide to the empty field below; the other Lethrblaka, his mate Hathasanisag, followed silently behind.

When the two beasts landed, Krashnarathar leaped from his father's back; he landed on the ground, ten feet below, with the grace of a cat, and looked around, sniffing the air. "Yesss…we are clossse enough to the village to travel on foot. Then we shall bring Roran Garrowsssson to our massster. Then, oncccce we catch the other Rider, all of Alagaessssia shall be—Earl! Earl, what are you doing?"

"Huh?" the other Ra'zac said, jumping up. He, too, had dismounted from his parent, but was crouched on the ground; his voice was muffled, his mouth full of something. He swallowed quickly. "I, uh—I was just eating some of this stuff on the ground, Krash."

He held out his hand. Krashnarathar let out a hiss. "Thosssse are rocksss, you idiot. You can't eat thossse!"

"But I'm hungry!" Earl whined. Saronasigan let out a low growl.

"Now, Krashnarathar, be niccce to your brother," Hathasanisag said.

"Er—jussssst come on," the elder Ra'zac said, waving his hand. He began to head towards the village; Earl followed behind.

The crept up to the village, silently. Well, Krashnarathar went silently; Earl, not so much.

"So, um, Krash…what are we supposed to be doing again?"

"Catching that human."

"Oh, yeah. The Rider."

"No; the Rider'sssss cousssssin."

"Is he a Rider too?"

"Not in this book, no."

"Uh…but I thought we were supposed to catch Riders."

"We are." Krashnarathar had the tone of someone trying to be patient, but who was quickly being brought beyond their means. "But the coussssin might know where the Rider issss. Sssso, if we catch the cousssin—"

"We…catch the Rider?"

_"Very good,"_ Krashnarathar said sarcastically. Earl beamed proudly.

They soon reached the edge of the village; there they crouched behind a tree, watching. The town had been fortified with a wall and ditch. "Wait a moment," Krashnarathar said. "In a moment, our sssecret ally will give usss the sssssignal."

There was a banging on the wall three times. "There it issss," Krashnarathar said. He leapt onto the wall, and sinking his claws into the wood he was able to climb it as easily as a gadfly. He clambered up quickly, with Earl coming less skillfully behind him. Soon they dropped into the village.

Sloan was there, with a knife in his hand; a human guard was lying dead at his feet. "Ooh," Earl said, bending down to poke at it.

"Earl! Quit messsing with that!" Krashnarathar spat. He turned to Sloan. "Now, you told usss you knew where the one called Roran issss?"

He gave a curt nod, a sneer on his face. "Over at Horst's house," he said. "I'll lead the way."

Sloan turned and began to walk; Krashnarathar followed. A moment later he heard the sound of Earl straining, and turned; his brother was trying to drag the dead body along. "What are you doing, fool?!"

"Just bringing along a snack along for later."

"Jussst bringing—oh, you idiot, leave him there!"

The three moved quickly through the town; the Ra'zac kept to the shadows, experts at moving undetected, so that any passerby would be strained to see anyone but Sloan walking through the streets. Soon they arrived at Horst's large home.

"Yesss, he'sss here…I can smell him," Krashnarathar hissed, nodding. He turned to the others, the Ra'zac and the man. "Sssstart looking in the windowssss," he ordered. "But be sssstealthy!"

The three began to look into the windows. After a moment Earl said, "Krash…I think I found him!"

"Really?" Krashnarathar drew away from the window he had been looking at and came up behind him. "Isss he ssssleeping?"

"Um…no."

"What issss he doing?"

Earl cocked his head to one side for a moment. "His girlfriend, I think."

"What?!"

Krashnarathar looked in; Sloan followed. All three evildoers gaped, eyes turned wide, mouths hanging open.

"What are they doing?" Krashnarathar wondered aloud.

"Ooh, he's biting her!" Earl cried. "He must be trying to eat her!"

"But she'ssss not sssscreaming in pain. At least…I don't _think_ that'ssss pain," Krashnarathar muttered, turning his head to one side.

"Guh—gazda—" Sloan said, his face twisted into an ugly (well, _uglier)_ grimace of shock; he seemed so stunned he was unable to move. "Guzza—zaba WAH?!"

The two Ra'zac continued to gape for a moment. Then both drew back in surprise. "Wha—" Krashnarathar cried, reeling back. "What the Helgrind wasss that?!"

"I don't know," Earl said. "…But it looked kinda fun."

"MAKKA!" Sloan screamed. "MAKKA-MAKKA MOO!"

"Shhh!" Krashnarathar said, lashing out as though he were about the strike the man. "Oh, who cares? Whatever those two are doing, we've found the human. Let'sss go back to the camp—we shall come with reinforcccementsss later to catch him. Then we shall—Earl? Earl, are you listening?!"

"Wha?" Earl said, tearing his eyes off the window. "Oh…sorry, Krash. It was…" his eyes turned back. "They're just…really interesting to watch."

"Come on, we're leaving," Krashnarathar muttered, waving him along. "Just leave the human here; he seems…incapacitated."

"Mugga…mugga maloo," Sloan muttered sadly, his face completely unchanged, but perhaps a little more morose. The two Ra'zac shook their heads and slithered back through the town.

"Hey," Earl said, as the two Ra'zac slithered through the shadows, "I know what they were doing. Maybe they were…"

"What? What were they doing?"

"You know…?" Earl raised his eyebrows suggestively beneath his dark cloak.

Krashnarathar just stared.

"…Mating," Earl whispered behind his hand, bending close, as if it were a dirty word.

Krashnarathar stared at him for another moment. "Mating?"

Earl nodded.

"You sssee two humansss unclothed in a bed, and you think they're mating?"

Earl nodded again.

Krashnarathar slapped him; as Earl cried out, his brother reprimanded, "Did you sssee her injecting him with venom? Did you sssee him ripping open her abdomen to fertilizzzze her eggsss?!"

"Well…no," Earl said meekly.

Krashnarathar turned and began to walk away again, rolling his insectoid eyes; Earl followed a few feet behind him. "Mating," Krashnarathar muttered. "Oh, Helgrind, how did I get sssstuck with ssssuch an idiotic brother?"


	4. Cats Are Evil

Chapter Four

Cats are Evil

On the edge of Du Weldenvarden, a shadow moved almost silently amongst the trees. An owl hooted and flew away. The grass barely ruffled as the shadowy creature leaped up and landed on a stone, its eyes glistening in the moonlight as it surveyed the clearing.

Then a voice. Finally. You're here, it said, telepathically. Another form came sauntering slowly into the clearing. It was a rather large, unusual looking cat.

The creature on the rock came forward; as the moon hit it more clearly it, too, turned out to be a white feline. Sorry. I would have been here sooner if I could have dropped that wacko witch chick. She's a little smarter than the average human.

The other smirked. Not that that's saying much.

The two laughed. Then the female asked, How goes the plan?

Very well, the male said proudly. The witch listens to every word I say, and as a result, I can manipulate her into doing whatever I want. The same goes to every other human I speak to. Why, it was basically thanks to me that the Varden won the Battle of the Burning Plains—if not for my advice to Angela to poison Galbatorix's army, they would not have done nearly so well.

And the Rider?

I have given him all the advice that he needs to become very powerful.

Excellent. And that same goes with me—Queen Islanzadi and the other elves trust me very highly. I have found ways to strengthen their forces as well.

Perfect, the male cat said—with a somewhat evil tone. They're doing exactly what we want, and they don't even realize it.

Yes, the female agreed. For while we could never defeat Galbatorix's forces on our own, by strengthening them—by improving the tactics of their armies, by advising that fool Eragon how to open the Vault of Souls—we assure that the King will soon be overthrown.

And once he is gone, there will be chaos, the male said gleefully. As he spoke he began to change; his fur seemed to meld together, becoming slick and rubbery; parts of it seemed to extend and grow long. The Varden, dwarves and elves will all be weakened, and then they will begin to fight amongst themselves for power. His eyes began to glow; his mate, too, began to change now. And then they will all be weak enough for us to control.

The other cackled maniacally. Yes. The fools. Once Galbatorix is out of the way, there will be no force in Alagaesia strong enough to resist—the Space Cats from Mercury! Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!

The two cackled together, their disguises now shed to reveal their true, alien forms—the tentacles growing from their backs waved wildly in the air, crackling with electricity, while their long tongues flew around, licking and tasting the air.

Foolish Alagaesialings! Maudaxil laughed. I told you this land would be easier to conquer than normal Earth! Not only is their technologic vastly inferior, but the magic and strange occurrences in this land make it so simple to fool them! Even when they know of our powers, they simply pass it off as magic and accept it like that!

Yes. It's almost too easy, Solumbazor agreed. Even our telepathy does not give them pause—apparently its rather common here. Imagine how pleased Overlord Mogget-Nix will be, when he arrives with the Armada to discover this world already conquered! We will be honored above— Suddenly he turned; all four of his ears perked. Did you hear that, Maudaxil?

What? She paused; a rustling. Then she cursed. I thought I lost him, she thought in a low psychic voice, hopefully too quiet for any mind but Solumbazor's to hear it.

The rustling stopped for a moment; apparently it knew the aliens were onto it. Then suddenly it took off through the air, cawing in fright. Solumbazor's tongue darted out, extending three times as long as his body, and grabbed the creature in midair. It squawked again, as the extraterrestrial's tongue darted back, holding its prey before it.

It was a white crow, struggling in the tongue, but to no avail. Solumbazor's mouth—despite its tongue sticking out—turned into a smile, and he eyed the bird hungrily. Is this yours? he asked, his eyes turning to Maudaxil.

She nodded. The queen's pet birdie, she explained. He has some prophetic powers—I tried to cloud his mind to any information about me, but I believed he had suspicions.

Solumbazor hmmed and turned his eyes back to his catch. Ah. Getting weaker, Tweety? he chuckled; the bird, indeed, was struggling less. Those are the toxins in my saliva; paralyzing, you see. So. What do you have to say for yourself?

Blagden glared. "You'll never succeed!" he cried. "I'll never let you conquer Alagaesia!"

Solumbazor laughed. Oh? And what is a little Earth bird going to do to stop us? it sneered.

Blagden's eyes narrowed; it seemed to grin with its beak. Suddenly its mouth opened, and a glob of black slime shot out, hitting Solumbazor in the eyes; the cat let out a hiss, and its tongue uncoiled around the bird. It flew up without a problem—the toxins apparently hadn't really been harming it at all. One of Maudaxil's tentacles whipped around to grab the bird, crackling with electric power, but a blast of light issued from the raven's mouth, and the tentacle reeled back, badly burned.

Blagden landed on a tree branch; he had grown, was suddenly a larger bird, with six wings and four glowing red eyes. The cats looked up in amazement. A scaly leg extended up, and in quick succession shot a blast of energy at each cat from its four clawed toes. They both fell, gasping with shock and pain, and looked up at the triumphant bird in horror.

"An Earth bird? Can't do much," it sneered. "But we Saturnian crows already have a stake in this world. And we're not willing to share." The cats continued to gape in amazement. "What's the matter?" Bladganoq asked, in a tone of mock concern. His scaly foot rose again; it began to glow. "Cat got your tongue?"

Two more blasts; the cats were destroyed utterly, their bodies little more than dust. Bladganoq's head shot back, and a "CAW-CAW-CAW!"ing laugh at his idiotic pun blasted through the night air.


	5. FanService!

Chapter Five

Fan-Service! or, Be Careful What You Wish For, CelticWater!

* * *

Okay, first of all, some comments. 

I apologize to anyone who had trouble reading the last chapter; I had made marks around comments made telepathically. Those of you who recognize the idea as being from _Animorphs_ are correct; I always thought that was a clever way to represent telepathy, since using _italics_ as if it were a normal thought seems confusing (not to mention more annoying to type out). However, when I converted the story to plain text that got messed up. For that reason stories that have a lot of telepathy will just use "quotation marks." Also, while I have been posting a new chapter just about every day, that may have to stop soon, since I had the rather brilliant idea to start this story just as the new semester was starting (sophmore at the University of West Florida), and have been neglecting school work. I doubt I have any fans die-hard enough to be upset about this, but anyway, given my habit of doing absolutely everything in the world before homework anyway, there may be no noticeable difference in how often I update.

Also, for the record, since these stories are meant to be primarily humorous, I do not follow any strict continuity between the chapters (though I did change the Ra'zac story a few times to make them make more sense vis-a-vis the book---added Sloan, etc.) For example, the dead can come back to life between chapters, facts I say about characters can change, etc. Basically it has to do with my whim.

Now, onto _this_ chapter...which I got the idea for from CelticWater's request for a Murtagh story. Since 32 is a rather high number, I am open to requests---though, as CelticWater will soon realize, there may be a catch.

(low, evil chuckle...) Let us begin.

* * *

"We're under attack!" Jormungandr cried. "All men at the ready!" 

Eragon ran up to the front of the Varden's base, followed closely behind by Nasuada, Arya and Orik. Just then the stone door burst open—along with most of the wall—and standing before them was Murtagh, standing atop his red dragon Thorn.

"Wow," Eragon said. "Only two paragraphs to get to the main action of the story. JoeMerl usually takes much longer than that."

Murtagh glared down at them; his eyes were narrow, and his body crackled with red electricity. He was all intense and scary-looking. And though I can say things like "he was all intense and scary-looking" for some chuckles, it occurs to me that Murtagh is not a very easy character to make fun of; unlike most Inheritance characters, he has depth and inner conflict, and his seriousness and broodingness makes it hard to come up with jokes about him. So I'll have to try a different tact.

Anyway, Murtagh glared at his brother and former allies from atop his scary and reticent red dragon, and said, "I'm sorry, Eragon, but Galbatorix has sent me to capture you. And to kill you," he said, turning to Nasuada.

Nasuada looked all sad at that. I mean, come on—it's not that explicit, but with all Murtagh's "she looks like a princess" stuff, and the way she seemed hurt when he turned traitor (is it traitor of unwilling slave? Paolini seems to be sending mixed signals about that), we know they're meant to be. So anyway, Murtagh raised his hands, and Thorn opened his mouth—

—when suddenly, out of nowhere, Saphira bursts through the wall beside them, and grabs Thorn by the neck in her teeth! The red dragon roared in pain, and as he twisted his head Murtagh fell, rather awkwardly, from his back (hmm, apparently not so tough and suave as I thought). At this point Eragon, Nasuada, Arya and Orik went running down the hallway, and Murtagh ran after them in hot pursuit, leaving the two raging dragons to battle.

They ran into a large chamber; there was no other way out of it. "Damn it, why did we build dead ends in this place?" Nasuada muttered. Just then Murtagh appeared behind them, glaring.

"Surrender!" he said. "There is no escape, Eragon."

"Yes there is," Eragon said. He raised his hand in front of him, so that Murtagh could see his gedwey ignasia. "Master Oromis taught me an amazing spell. It can do all sorts of things—including break you out of Galbatorix's thrall, you and your dragon."

Murtagh blinked. "What?"

"Don't you understand? I can free you!"

Murtagh remained placid for a moment. Then he said, "Never. I don't want to be freed."

"Hey!" Eragon said, offended. "I went through a lot of work to learn this spell for you. I had to do some things that I'm…not proud of. Now let me free you!"

"Never!" Murtagh repeated again; his eyes twitched, as his true will battled against the twisted thoughts Galbatorix had placed in his head. He unsheathed Zar'roc and pointed it threateningly. "Now come with me or else!"

"No!"

"AGH!"

Murtagh came running at him and swung; Eragon dropped to the floor, the blow missing. (If you're wondering when the funny is going to start, don't worry, it's coming.) Eragon kicked at Murtagh's legs and he tripped; Eragon sprang up, as Arya and Nasuada chanted, "Do the spell! Do the spell!"

_"Deus ex machina!"_ Eragon cried. And just like that Murtagh was all free and junk.

He blinked. "Huh?" His scary ebul face dropped. "Hey…hey, I'm free! I'm not under Galbatorix's control anymore!"

"Yay!" everybody cheered.

"And now you and I can start dating and be together forever!" Nasuada cried.

At this Murtagh went slightly red. "Uh…well, actually…"

Nasuada blinked. "What is it, Murtagh? You're free now, right? Now we can be together just like Paolini has been lightly hinting since book 1."

"Well, uh…ya see…" Murtagh scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "I, uh…while I was at Uru'baen…I, uh…kind of having a girlfriend now."

"What?!"

"That's right," said a voice, and for no logical reason other than that I need it to happen for the story, out stepped—CelticWater. I have no idea what she looks like, so I can't actually describe her, but suffice it to say that she looked pissed. She grabbed Murtagh and began to suck his face off; all the actual characters from the story stood there, gaping. When she had finished, CelticWater turned back to Nasuada and said, "Murtagh is _MY_ man now."

"Oh, _NO_ you didn't!" Nasuada said, face contorting with rage.

"Oh, _YES_ I did!" CelticWater said, mocking. "Whacha gonna do about it, BITCH?!"

"Oh, I'll show you what I'm gonna do!" And with that the elegant and beautiful Lady Nasuada swung her fist around and connected it right with Celtic Water's cheek.

"Whoo! You go, girl!" Arya cried from the sidelines.

CelticWater's head snapped for a moment, but then recoiled back quickly. She continued to glare steelily despite the bruise. "Oh. Is it my turn?" she asked. And with that let out a "HI-YA!," jumped into the air and gave an improbably good karate kick to Nasuada, sending her flying backward against a wall.

Nasuada was stunned for just a second, then she slowly rose to her feet, wiping a trail of blood away from her mouth. "Oh…that was pretty good," she admitted. And then, in a shocking move, out of her beautiful dwarf-sewn lace dress she drew out a lightsaber, from which a laser blade grew. "But how about THIS!"

With a mighty cry she ran at CelticWater, but fast as lightning she, too, had a lightsaber, and the two began battle. At first Nasuada had the upper hand, but CelticWarrior was not going to let some stereotypical female-warrior-Xena-wannabe get her precious Murty. With a twist of her wrist CelticWarrior managed to block a powerful blow and knock the lightsaber from Nasuada's hand, and, for the coup de grace, then brought her own blade down to lop off Nasuada's arm at the elbow.

Nasuada gaped for a moment at her now-severed arm. "You bitch," she whispered. Then, looking up, in a rage, "YOU FUCKIN' BITCH!"

She launched herself at CelticWarrior with such force that the former let go of her lightsaber, and it, too, fell to the ground; the two were now on the ground, fighting womano y womano, scratching and biting and slapping for the man they loved, Nasuada doing a surprisingly good job now that she was one-handed. And, just so all my male readers won't complain that this was a special fan-service just for CelticWarrior, let's say they somehow tumble into an oddly-placed pool of mud.

"WHOO!" Eragon cried.

"TAKE I' OFF!" Orik cried, throwing a dollar bill toward the two fighters.

"Oh," Arya scoffed. "This is so sexist. Personally, I am insulted that—"

I'll assume no one cares what Arya has to say (not that's she's wrong about this being degrading to women—but any feminist who wears tight leather outfits has lost the right to complain). So, the two women continued fighting in the mud, when suddenly CelticWarrior drew a knife from her pocket, and held it up threatening in front of Nasuada, its blade glinting in the light. (Somehow it's magically not muddy.) But Nasuada also had a knife, and the two dove at each other, each striving to land a fatal blow—

When suddenly two large, frozen pork chops fell from the sky and konked both competitors on the heads. Both froze, swooned, and fell in the mud, each before they were able to finish their attack.

Arya stopped her stupid feminist rant and gaped. "What the hell was that?" she asked.

"Apparently JoeMerl couldn't come up with a good way to end the story, or figure out which of the two should win, so he decided to end it this way," Orik suggested.

"Oh, man," Murtagh said. "So who am I going to bone now?"

Arya shrugged. "I've got an hour to kill."

"Oh, cool." And so the two of them grabbed each other and fall onto the floor. Eragon's eyes go wide, his jaw drops, and a look of shock and horror comes over his face.

"Hey," Orik said suddenly. "Whatever happened to Saphira and Thorn?"

* * *

"Oh, Thorn," Saphira said, laying her scaly head on his abdomen, "that was wonderful. And here I was worrying that I would never get a mate." 

"Yeah," Thorn said. Then he cleared his throat. "Well, I gotta go."

"What?" Saphira's serpentine head twisted. "Why?"

"Oh, I got a date with that blond elf chick with the dragon tattoo. Later." And he flew away.

Saphira raised her clawed fist to the sky and shook it. "Damn that whore! Will she leave us nothing?!"

* * *

Random thought: Wow. Just about every one of these stories involves sex. So much for me being a "clean comic." 


	6. The Chapter With Some Evil Planning

Chapter Six

The Chapter With Some Evil Planning

* * *

Sorry to all my adoring fans (), but I've been quite busy lately with lots of work---in fact I really _should_ have been studying for the last hour and a half, but instead, I wrote a new chapter. Hope you all enjoy. I will try to start updating about once a week if possible, perhaps sooner if I can.

And with that, let us begin a story arc...and yes, why Galbatorix remains obscured will be explained, but not for a long time.

* * *

In his dark palace in the city of Uru'baen, the mighty Galbatorix, King of the Empire (wait, shouldn't that make him an emperor?), stood ominously on his balcony, his body completely concealed in his long, dark cloak that left only his eyes visible under layers of black wrapping.

"Where are they?" he said, his tone low and creepy-like.

"They are coming, my liege," said Galby's faithful (well, not so faithful, really) apprentice Murtagh, who was standing all straight and proper several feet behind him.

Just then, the chamber door opened, and in came two more swooping black-robed figures—the twin Ra'zac, Krashnarathar and Earl. Krashnarathar glided in, with typical Ringwraith/Dementor grace; Earl strolled behind him, looking around with interest, going "ooh" as he passed a very expensive leather couch with Palencar XIV craftsmanship.

Galbatorix turned and surveyed his two servants. Krashnarathar bowed deeply. Earl wiggled his clawed fingers. "Hey, sir," he said cheerfully, as Krashnarathar badly suppressed a groan.

"Excellent," Galbatorix said; his icy eyes, barely visible in the shadows of his cloak, stared grimly at the two. "My faithful servants. Now that you are here, my plan can begin."

He turned to stride across the room. As he did, and Krashnarathar rose from his bow, Earl leaned sideways and whispered, "Hey, Krash—why's the king in that creepy black getup?"

"To remain mysteriousssss," Krashnarathar hissed.

"Well, yeah—but why? Is he, like, a terrible mutant? Or hideously scarred or something?"

"There are already two charactersssss that are hideousssly ssscarred," Krashnarathar muttered, motioning over to Murtagh.

"Well, there are two mysteriously cloaked characters too," Earl pointed out, motioning to the two of them.

Galbatorix turned; discussion of his mysteriousness would have to be addressed later. "My servants," he said, picking a small vial off of a nearby table. "I have in my hands that which will bring about the ultimate destruction of our enemies and the realization of all my century of planning." He held it up, so the small, dark liquid could glisten in the light.

"Ooooh…" Earl sniffed. "Smells good."

"It should, to you," Galbatorix murmured. "It's human blood."

Krashnarathar nodded. "The Shur'tugal'sssss, too, by the sssmell of it," he hissed.

"Precisely. The Rider Eragon's blood. And with this, and a very clichéd idea, I will be able to bring about the ultimate weapon to destroy him!"

"A monkey?!"

Everybody froze and turned to stare at Earl. He shifted uncomfortably. "I mean…you know, a big…scary monkey. One that can…fly and…breathe fire and stuff."

There was a long pause. Finally Krashnarathar slapped him upside the head, and Galbatorix resumed his story.

"You see," he explained, "long did I ponder the Rider and his skills. Though young, he is very adept—much more adept than any Rider before him has been in such a short time of learning. Especially after the Deus Ex Machina Ceremony, when he got all those souped-up super-elf powers, I began to realize that he would be hard to defeat. How, I wondered, could I hope to match his Gary Stu-esque abilities? And then, it hit me. Using an ancient spell, I will be able to conjure a being from this blood who will be the Rider's ultimate match. A being just as amazingly intelligent, yet naïve and foolish as he. An exact copy. His own evil twin!"

Murtagh blinked. "Isn't that idea a little…"

"Yes, yes, yes; clichéd, I know. Weren't you listening all those paragraphs above? But the point is, it will work." He smirked, looking at the vial.

"Um…wait. Why don't you just clone yourself or me then?" Murtagh wondered, raising an eyebrow. "Or for that matter, Shuiken or Thorn or the Ra'zac?"

"Part of the cliché," the king said dully. "The clone will be just the same as he is, except evil. There's always a switch of sides. If I cloned myself, there would be a super-powerful _good_ Dragon Rider running around; cloning you…I guess it would make an evil one forced to do good against its will, I don't know. The point is, we're doing it with Eragon, so everybody shut the hell up."

With that, Galbatorix uncorked the vial—the delicious smell of blood wafted over to the Ra'zac—and he poured it onto the floor, in the middle of a large, red pentacle that happened to be drawn on the ground. It began to glow deep white, then darkened to pitch black.

"By the powers of evil and naughtiness," Galbatorix said (in the Ancient Language), raising his arms above his head, "let the dark gods of hell make me a super-cool (though clichéd) Eragon clone, with which to do my evil plans!"

And with that, the shadows from the floor grew, shifting and moaning—dark, eerie whispers from the netherworld began to seep in, making Murtagh's skin crawl—and then took on a form, and began to solidify. Soon the shadows were in the shape of a human, and Galbatorix threw back his head and laughed maniacally. Finally, with a flash of darkness, the spell was completed.

Everybody gaped. There, standing in the pentacle, was the figure of a naked man (because clones are always naked when first created—where are they going to get clothes from? Now stop swooning Edward Speleers fans!) Galbatorix continued to laugh, head thrown back, as the others stared at the snarling, evil clone in astonishment.

"Yes!" the kid roared. "Now, finally, I have my perfect clone to do my bidding!"

"Uh, master—"

"With it, I will be able to destroy the Rider, infiltrate the Varden, and—"

"Master?"

"Soon, all of Alagaesia will be mine, and I, Galbatorix the Great, shall—"

"MASTER!"

"What?" he snarled, turning to face Murtagh.

"Um…take a closer look at the clone."

Galbatorix turned. His eyes widened for a moment, then wrinkled. The Eragon clone snarled. Galbatorix muttered, "I…guess he's not such a perfect copy after all."

"Hey!" the clone barked. "I'm a great copy!"

"But you're—you're—" Murtagh choked over the word.

Suddenly Earl laughed. "I have a perfect name for him!" he cried. "We should call him—"


	7. I Also Considered Erogain

Chapter Seven

I Also Considered "Erogain"

Eragon, Arya, Orik and Saphira were traveling through the Hadarac Desert, to not particular place and in no real logical part of Inheritance continuity, when Eragon said "I have to go to the bathroom."

"Then go," said Orik.

"Where?"

"Ugh—you've been traveling around Alagaesia for months now. Where have you always gone to the bathroom before?"

"I don't know. Paolini never really addressed that awkward topic."

"Find a bush!"

"We're in the middle of a desert! There are no bushes!"

"There must be one around here somewhere," Arya said. "Just go, we'll wait for you?"

Eragon grumbled, got off his horse and went off. Orik turned to Arya and muttered, "Are we actually going to wait for him?"

"Yes."

"Damn."

* * *

"Finally," Eragon muttered, as he came across a very scraggly and emaciated bush. He grimaced. "Well, it's not much of a toilet, but it'll do, I guess." 

And thus he commenced urinating. "Ah," he sighed.

Just then, he heard a cold, cruel voice from behind him. "Hello, Eragon."

Eragon whipped his head around. Standing behind him was a figure, dressed all in black (yeah, I know, that makes four so far, so sue me), his face hidden except for his eyes, a dark cloth like a turban wrapped around his head.

The figure took a dagger out of his belt. "Prepare to die, Shur'tugal." He raised it up and was about to attack—

"Um—eh-heh," Eragon said awkwardly, "uh…as you can see, I'm a little…busy right now. Could you just—"

"What? Oh," he said. He lowered his dagger and cleared his throat. "Alright."

A moment passed. The figure cleared his throat again. "Just a second," Eragon muttered. "Wait—oh, wait…"

"Err…"

"Okay, done." ZIP. Eragon turned to face his opponent. "Anyway…you were saying?"

"Yes," the figure said irritably. He raised his dagger again. "Prepare to die."

And with a "HI-YA!" the black-robed villain launched himself at Eragon. Eragon let out a cry and dove out of the way. The figure landed on the ground, then quickly jumped back to face him again. His brown eyes narrowed.

"Hmm. That was pretty lame," the dark-robed figure admitted.

Eragon raised a hand. "Look. I've done this kind of thing before, with Murtagh at the end of Eldest. You're a mysterious figure, all cloaked so I can't see your face; obviously there's going to be a big shock when I find out who you are. So, um, I'm kind of in a hurry before my friends leave without me. Can we just skip to the big discovery?"

The figure shrugged. "I guess," he said. Then, clearing his throat again, he said, all dramatic-like, "Who am I, you ask? I—" he whipped the folds off of his face. "AM YOU!"

Underneath the cover was the face of Eragon himself! He gasped. "Okay, that really was a surprise," he muttered.

"Yeah, I know," the other said. He was still cloaked in a black costume and turban, though his face was now revealed. "For you see, I am your clone, created by King Galbatorix to slay you at last. You cannot outfight—yourself! HIYA!"

With that, he drew out his sword—a long, red blade Galbatorix's best smiths had made, itself a perfect clone of Zar'roc—and leapt into the air. Eragon quickly reached for his hip and pulled out—nothing. "Oh, yeah. Murtagh stole that," he muttered, looking up as his twin began to descend toward him. "Uh-oh."

His doppelganger's boot connected with Eragon's face; he flew to the ground, the evil Eragon standing over him, a foot on Eragon's chest. He held clone-Zar'roc over Eragon. "Time to die," he said dramatically, and brought the sword down for the kill.

Eragon quickly kicked up—his knee connected with certain parts of evil-Eragon that are rather delicate, and the villain reeled back, dropping his sword from his hand. He bent over, gasping and coughing, his turban half-off his head. Eragon quickly picked up the faux Zar'roc and said, "Your evil days are over, Evil Eragon!"

He came forward and slashed the air; his clone ducked, and the turban finally fell of his head. "I defy that name as I deny you!" he hissed. "My name is Hairisgon!"

"Hairisgon?" Eragon said, raising an eyebrow. Then his twin stood; his crown was no longer covered. Eragon gaped for a moment…then began laughing. He pointed. "You're _**bald!"**_ he cried.

"Shut _**up!"**_ the evil one cried. His completely hairless skull glistened in the sun.

"You're—oh my nonexistent gods!" Eragon cried, doubling over. "Why—why are you—"

Hairisgon hissed. "The spell that Galbatorix used to create me requires either hair or blood—the two staples of the 'evil clone' cliché. But what he didn't realize was that whichever component you use, the clone will lack the other one. Since I was made from blood, then, I have no hair. Which is a lot better than the other option, I might point out!"

"I'm not so sure," Eragon said; his face contorted, and then he fell, hollering with laughter again. "And your name is _**HAIRISGON!**_ Oh, that's freakin' _**BRILLIANT! **_Oh…I'm gonna die," he giggled.

"Yes," Hairisgon said, his eyes steely. "You are."

And with that, he attacked, with Eragon incapacitated with laughter—the chuckling hero could only raise his arm in defense, and even with his opponent attacking, he was unable to stop laughing.

* * *

"All I'm saying, is, you just like to keep him around because he compliments you on your hair," Orik said. 

"That's not true," Arya said. "He also compliments me on my eyebrows. I mean, seriously, do you realize how much time it takes every morning to get them this sculpted?"

Just then, in the distance, they heard—"ARYA! Pfft—heh-heh—ORIK! SAPHIRA! YOU GOTTA—HA HA HA!"

"Oh no!" Saphira cried. "Eragon is in trouble!"

"Yeah. Sounds like he's being attacked by a gang of clowns," Arya said skeptically. She sighed. "Let's go save him."

They rushed over and found the two fighting, hand-to-hand, rolling on the dusty ground. Eragon had finally managed to stop laughing—perhaps because Hairisgon's hands were wrapped around his throat. Saphira quickly dove into the fray, ripped the two combatants apart and separated them, and everyone gasped at the two dusty foes, shocked.

"By Guntera's beard!" Orik cried. "There are two Eragons!"

"But how?" Saphira wondered.

"I've heard of this enchantment," Arya said. "Galbatorix must have created a clone. One is the true Eragon; the other is evil."

"But which is which?" Orik asked.

"What?" Eragon said, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know," Arya said, biting her lip. "They look so similar, I—I can't tell them apart."

"You can't?" Eragon said, incredulous. His eyes turned to Hairisgon's shiny dome.

"I know!" Orik agreed. "Aye, there's no way to tell them apart!"

"Um, yes there is," Eragon said.

"Saphira," Arya said, turning. "Which one is the real Eragon?"

The dragon brought her serpentine neck close to the two of them, nostrils dilated. "Um…the one on the left. No, wait—the one on the right. Maybe."

"Come on, Saphira," Hairisgon said. "Don't you remember me? It's me, Eragon—I've known you your entire life!"

"You're not Eragon!" the real Dragon Rider cried. "I mean—look at him, Saphira! You can magically sense my mind from inside your egg but you can't tell he isn't me?!"

"Quiet, both of you!" Arya retorted. "We need to think this through," she said to the others. "How can we tell which one is real?"

"What if we ask them a question only Eragon could know?" Orik suggested.

"Like what?"

Saphira twisted to face them. "What was my first word?"

"Eragon," both said together.

"Ugh, of course," Arya said. "The spell would duplicate their minds as well. Aside from the fact that one is evil, the two are exactly the same in every way!"

"No we're not!" Eragon cried, completely exasperated. "Come on—notice any difference?" He motioned to his head, then the other's. The others weren't paying attention, though.

"Would they both have the gedway ignasia?" Orik asked.

Arya nodded.

"Oh., seriously, am _**I **_the smartest one in this group? Because that would just me sad," Eragon called.

"We could…I don't know…use some kind of spell to figure 'em out?"

"I don't know any spell of that nature," Arya said thoughtfully.

"I mean, we're not even wearing the same clothes!" Eragon cried. "Look—he's wearing black ninja clothes! Was I wearing black ninja clothes five minutes ago?!"

"Wait," Hairisgon said. "There's only one choice. Kill us both. That way you know you'll kill the real evil Eragon."

"Wouldn't that kill me?" Saphira said doubtfully.

"Well, yes—but don't you see? Only the real Eragon would say that!" Arya cried suddenly.

"No I wouldn't," Eragon said. "How noble do you think I am?"

"Shut up, clone!" she cried. She waved a hand at him—Eragon suddenly went flying through the air, hit the ground hard and blacked out.

"Wow," said Hairisgon, smiling. "I'm sure glad you guys figured out I was me."

"Well, I am pretty clever," Arya said loftily.

"What do we do with the clone?" Orik wondered, pushing the toe of his boot against Eragon.

"We should kill him," Hairisgon said quickly.

"Good idea," Orik agreed.

"Ugh, you bipeds are stupid," a languishing voice said, as Solumbum appeared from behind a sandy dune.

"The werecat? What are you doing here?" Arya asked. "You were killed off, like, three chapters ago. And what do you mean, we're stupid?"

The feline cleared its throat. "Did you, by any chance, happen to notice that this version of Eragon doesn't have _**HAIR?"**_

Orik, Arya and Saphira all blinked; then they turned and gaped at Hairisgon. Then, all at once, they fell on the ground and started laughing uproariously, as Hairisgon's eyes narrowed and his face began to turn red. "Stop it!" he hissed.

"Oh my nonexistent gods—look at him!" Arya cried, holding her middle.

"Guntera's beard, we're stupid!" Orik laughed. "But—not as stupid as he looks! HA HA!"

"Er—**_BRISINGR!"_** Hairisgon cried. And with that a burst of fire shot from him, and instantly incinerated Orik, Saphira and Arya to ashes and bone.

"Hee-hee. That was fun," Solumbum said. "Hey, wanna go get wasted?"

Hairisgon shrugged. "Okay."

And so the two of them went off to get drunk in Dras-Leona. But that's a whole 'nother story (which I may wind up writing, if I run out of other ideas).


	8. Both Have Red and Blue Versions

Chapter Eight

Both Have Red and Blue Versions. A Coincidence? I Think Not.

* * *

I was thinking, "What new angle can I use for an Inheritance story?" In the next room, my little brothers were playing video games. That, plus from childhood memories, produced this.

* * *

We join our heroes, Eragon, Orik and Arya, as they continue to journey through Alagaesia, on Eragon's journey to become a Dragon Riding Master.

"Oh," he moaned, clutching his stomach. "I'm SO hungry!"

"Here," Orik said. "Have a donut."

Eragon took it, examining it warily. "This isn't a donut," he said slowly. "This is a ball of rice."

"Yeah," Orik explained. "We eat them in the Beor Mountains. But when we're talking to humans, we call them 'donuts' just to prevent confusion."

A long pause. "Then why am I more confused then before?" he wondered.

Just then, there was a rustling in the bushes beside them. "What's that?" Arya wondered.

Suddenly, a giant form, two-thirds the height of a man, burst out from among the trees. "NAGRA!" it cried.

"It's a giant boar!" Eragon cried, as the creature began to thrash, waving its large tusks, the bristles on its back rising.

"It's a Nagra," Orik said.

"Really? Oh boy! Now I can fight it for experience in battle!" Eragon cried.

"Actually, Eragon, I'm not sure that's such a good idea—" Orik began, but Eragon wasn't listening. He reached into his pocket and produced a small, easily-recognizable, possibly-copyrighted red-and-white orb. He threw it into the air. "Saphira, I choose you!"

The ball burst open, and somehow, from inside, a ten-foot-long blue lizard-monster emerged. "DRAGON!" she cried.

"Saphira, use Dragon Rage!" Eragon instructed.

"What? No, Eragon," Orik began. "You should use—"

But it was too late—Saphira opened her mouth and released a blast of blue draconic energy, which hit the Nagra and sent it flying into a nearby tree. It recovered quickly, however, and stood up, pawing the ground with its hoof like a bull about to charge. With a cry of "Nagra!," it released a blast of blue-white energy from its tusks, which hit Saphira right in the chest. With a cry she flew back, and then, inexplicably, froze into a giant block of ice.

"What the—"

The Nagra leapt suddenly, knocked Eragon to the ground and Fury Cuttered him twice in the face—SLASHSLASH!" Then, with a final cry of "Nagra!," it leaped back into the woods and vanished.

"I tried to warn you," Orik said, helping Eragon to his feet; he was wiping the blood off his face. "Nagra is an Ice creature. That makes it strong against Dragons."

"…What?! That makes no sense! She can breathe fire!" Eragon cried.

"Yes," Arya said calmly. "And if you had used a Fire attack, you likely would have defeated it. But Saphira is a Flying Dragon—double weakness against Ice. Just because she knows Fire attacks doesn't make her natural weakness against Ice less, it just gives her a potential defense—one you didn't utilize."

"Well, what f-ckin' sense does it make that Dragons would be weak against Ice?!"

"It doesn't have to make sense. That's just the way it is."

Eragon sighed; he looked over at Saphira, completely covered in ice. "Does anybody have a Full Heal?" he asked.

Orik shook his head. "No. We used the last one last week, to wake ourselves up after another long, in-depth description of Arya's eyebrows."

"Well, then how do we unfreeze her?! There aren't any Ice Berries growing around here to use, and she's a giant block of ice!"

Arya sighed. "I'll get a rock."

* * *

Nearby, in the bushes, two large and one small figure lurked, watching them. "Look at them try to pick the icccce off of their dragon," the first one hissed. "Now is the chancccce to attack."

"Ooh, ooh!" the other said. "Does that mean we get to use the—"

"Yessss. But let'ssss hurry!"

"Yes, let's," the final figure said, slinking away. "I have a cat nap to attend to at four."

* * *

"There," Eragon said, and with a final stab of stone against ice the last bit dislodged itself from Saphira. She craned her neck and roared. "Finally. Euh…my hands are all numb."

"Well, let's get going, quick, before anything interesting or exciting has time to happen," Orik said.

But just then…

BOOM!

"What's that?" Arya asked, looking around frantically.

Then, out of the forests, rose a gigantic form with giant black wings and a massive body, all gleaming in the afternoon sun. It emitted loud noises as it emerged, flying over the forest.

"What the—" Arya began.

From inside the robotic beast, Krashnarathar hissed, "Sssurprisssssed to sssee ussss?"

"Oh no!" Orik cried. "It's Team Ra'zac!"

"Correct!" Krashnarathar said. "To protect Alagaesia from devastation—"

"To unite all peoples within our nation—"

"To denounce the evils of truth and love—"

"To, uh…to…Krash, I forgot my line!"

"Oh…what was it? Ssssomething about…extending or…oh, what the Helgrind? Thissss doesssn't even make ssssensssse anyway…er, sssssurrender now or prepare to fight," the elder Ra'zac muttered.

Elsewhere in the robot, a werecat yawned in his nap and muttered, "Solumbum, that's right."

"Now, prepare to ssssurrender your dragon to ussss!" Krashnarathar cried. And with that, he pressed a button on the control panel before him, and the Lethrblak-Bot flapped its metal wings and swooped down. The others cried out and ducked as it flew right toward Saphira. She let out a cry as the giant bat's mouth closed around it, its teeth forming a set of prison bars in a chamber just large enough to hold her. She kicked and thrashed to no avail.

"Saphira!" Eragon cried, looking up as the robot flew into the air. "Use Fire Blast!"

A burst of flames erupted from the dragon's mouth; they had no effect. "Ha ha!" Krashnarathar laughed. "We adapted the Lethrblak-Bot to be imperviousssss to fire!"

"Oh course!" Orik cried. "Just like they do in every episode!"

"We have to save Saphira!" Eragon cried.

"Ha ha!" Krashnarathar cried. "Finally, we will be able to bring thissss dragon to King Galbatorixxx and claim our rightful reward! Nothing can sssstop ussss! Finally, I found a plan that wassss completely foolproof!"

"Ooooh," Earl said suddenly. "What does this button do?"

"What? Oh—no, Earl, don't touch that! That'ssss the—"

BOOM!

"NO!" Krashnarathar cried, flying through the air from the wreckage of the explosion.

"Looks like Team Ra'zac's blasting off again!" Earl said brightly.

"Ugh," Solumbum cried. "Remind me to kill him when we land."

And they disappeared into the horizon.

Saphira flew back to Eragon, and then they went back on their journey. I'd write in more depth, but frankly, I've wasted too much time on this story already, especially considering I have two exams today. On my birthday! Can you believe it? Anyway, the end.


	9. The Way They Might Do It, Part I

Chapter Nine

The Way That Eragon and Arya Might Do It, Part I

* * *

My university semester is done, which means I FINALLY have time to begin undating again. In between looking for a job and writing a novel, that is.

Now, while I know there are differing theories about romance in the final book, most fans seem to agree that Eragon/Arya is the most likely path Paolini will take. Assuming this is accurate, the two will, of course, hook up (literally or figuratively) at some point. Throughout the rest of these stories, I will present some possible scenarios how this might happen. Here is the first.

* * *

Our story begins with our heroes in the Varden headquarters in Surda. Arya is alone in her quarters, in front of her mirror, carefully using a tiny little brush to make sure her eyebrows are perfectly sculpted. Suddenly she sees a new reflection appear in her mirror, and she spins around to see Eragon.

"Oh, Eragon!" Arya says, in her lilting musical voice. "I wasn't expected you."

Which was a total lie, of course, because Eragon was always following her around like a lovesick puppy-dog, but what of that? "I'm sorry," said Eragon. "Do you want me to leave?"

"Oh, I suppose you can stay," Arya says solemnly.

Eragon smiles, then looks away for a moment. Soon he clears his throat and says, "Your eyebrows are looking very sculpted today."

"Oh! Thank you," Arya said offhandedly, brushing them carefully.

Eragon cleared his throat again, becoming more bold. "And your hair looks very nice today too."

"Thank you again."

"And your sparkling green eyes...and your swanlike neck...and your..." His eyes were quickly going down his body.

"Oh!" Arya said swiftly, whipping herself around. "Eragon, stop it!"

"But I can't! Your so utterly, unbelievably beautiful! Please, Arya, can't we be together?"

"No!" she said dramatically. "I cannot! We're different races! We're different classes! I'm old enough to be your great-great-grandmother, for goodness' sakes!"

"Please, Arya?"

"No!"

"Please?"

"Alright," she said suddenly, her voice turning very businesslike, turning back around to face him, hand on her hip.

"Wha?" Eragon said, eyebrows shooting up.

"I said...okay," she said, sexfully, and jumped onto Eragon. He let out a cry, landed on Arya's bed, and soon they were tangled in a sweaty human-elf ball.

Two and a half glorious minutes later, Arya was sucking on a cigerette filter, as Eragon lay beside her in bed, his bare chest rising and falling as he panted. "Wow," he said, head dizzy. "I can't believe we just did that!"

"Yes," said Arya, flicking the cig butt away. She turned over toward him. Turning her voice to dramatic mode again, she said, "It seems crazy, I know---who would have ever guessed that a rugged messianic human would wind up with a hot elfin princess? But I don't care if it breaks tradition! It just feels so right!"

"Aye," said Eragon. Then he sat up, clearing his throat. "So, uh...can we..." he grinned, sheepish. "Do that again?"

"Oh, actually, I gotta go," Arya said curtly, getting out of bed and quickly putting her tight leather outfit back on. "I have to go see that blonde chick with the dragon tattoo. Maybe I'll scry you later." And she swept out of the room.

Eragon's face was frozen in a look of shock for a minute. "What?!" Then he cocked his head, considering, and jumped out of bed. "Hey! Can I come along?"


	10. The Hatchday Party

Chapter Ten

The Hatchday Party

* * *

Well, I just wasted an hour or two writing another chapter...alternate title: "Psycho Saphira."

And in case any readers were confused by the last chapter---"Arya and Eragon Having Sex" chapters will be sprinkled throughout the remaining chapters of this, not for the rest of the 32 chapters.

* * *

As the sunlight began to shine through the windows, Saphira at first shut her eye tighter, trying to keep the light out and resume her dream of Glaedr in a giant pool of Hershey's chocolate syrup. Then, she suddenly remembered what day it was. With a cry of joy, she opened her wings and jumped off her bed of straw, and began to whip her tail excitedly around the room. 

"Yay!" she cried, flapping her wings. "It's today! Today is my first hatchday!"

She cocked her snakelike head to one side, smiling and thinking. Yes, it had been one year ago today that she had first hatched from her egg, as Eragon touched it and she realized her true destined Rider had arrived. Or, rather, she realized that she was going to spend the rest of her life in that damn rock and was running out of yoke to eat and so she better just take what she could get; but the point was, today was her hatchday, her very first, and she was very excited.

"Ooh," she said, curling up on the floor, shaking with excitement. "I wonder what the others are going to do for me. I wonder if they'll have a cake. I can't really eat cake...ooh, but I want one anyway. With a nice big candle in the middle that I can blow out. Well...okay, I breathe fire, so maybe I should blow it on? And presents! I wonder what Eragon got me...it better be something good, for hauling his skinny white ass all around the continent. Maybe he'll get me a puppy!" She licked her lips joyfully at the thought.

She paused. "Eragon and the others haven't mentioned anything about my hatchday, though." Then she grinned. "They must be planning a surprise party for me! Ooooooh! I can't wait!"

She flew over to the nearby room where Eragon was still sleeping. "Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead," Saphira practically sang, poking him with her snout. His weird, anachronistic alarm clock was already lying across the room, broken where he'd thrown it.

Eragon groaned and rolled over, shooing Saphira's face away. "Five more minutes, mommy."

Saphira jabbed harder. "Eragon! We have lessons with Masters Oromis and Glaedr! Plus, it's a very special day today!" She gave a girlish dragon giggle.

Eragon groaned again and shooed her away. Saphira paused for a minute, considering. Then she puckered her lips and blew, very softly, by his ear.

That woke him up.

"AGH! AGH, my head's on fire!" he screamed, racing around the room before he finally thought to run to the bathroom. A moment later his hair was doused in the bath tub with its also-anachronistic running water.

"Oh, you're awake," Saphira said pleasantly. She bounced up and down like an eager puppy. "Hurry up and get dressed! We need to hurry."

Eragon grumbled and began to get ready.

As they flew over Du Weldenwarden, Eragon made no mention of Saphira's hatchday. This did not strike the dragon as ominous---rather, she took this as proof that there was going to be a surprise party. Maybe when they reached the Crags of Tel'Naeir! Oh, she could picture it now! Everyone would be outside Oromis' house, the queen and Arya and all the elves...and Glaedr, his scales shining in the sun...ooh, maybe he would give her a SPECIAL gift, heh-heh-heh!

"Like his penis!"

"What?!" Eragon asked, eyes wide.

"Oh---did I telepathy that out-loud? Never mind."

Saphira was so sure that the party would be at the Crags that she was rather disappointed when they came into view, and only Oromis and Glaedr, like usual, were standing outside. And Glaedr didn't even have a bow on any part of his anatomy. Were they others hiding? No, she could sense them with her telepathy. Hmm.

The lessons proceeded as usual. The two pairs split up; Saphira went off with Glaedr. Maybe he was going to take her to a quiet, secluded, romantic spot, to recite an epic poem about her beauty before a passionate mating session? No, they just continued the flying lessons from the day before. Dang.

As the two were flying back to their quarters after the lesson, Saphira concluded that the surprise party was clearly supposed to be later. Ooh! Maybe Eragon and Oromis had been off preparing for the party instead of having a lesson, setting out the balloons and such beforehand. She craned her neck as they flew, trying to see if some clearing of Du Weldenwarden was decorated. They must have hidden it well; she saw nothing.

When they got back to the room Eragon merely went to his desk to study ancient Elvish texts, while Saphira paced the floor impatiently. Finally she asked, "So, er, Eragon...do we have any other plans for the day?"

"Wha?" he said, looking up.

There was a knock at the door; Arya was there, along with the werecat Maud. Of course! They were going to go out on one of their walks through the city and the woods---to the party, no doubt! She jumped around anxiously as Eragon grabbed his coat and a condom.

Arya led them through the city, to the sight of some sort of treaty and some sort of museum and some sort of sacred bush, which as far as Saphira could tell had no particularly reason for being sacred other than the fact that it looked pretty. Saphira was beginning to get impatient. When would they get to the party?

Finally they wound up in a clearing in the forest. Arya and Eragon were sitting near the roots of a tree; Saphira lay apart, head down, dejected. She sighed. Maud the creepy-looking, wrinkled-up werecat creeped next to her.

"Aw...what's the problem, Skulblaka?" Maud asked, frowning in an amused sort of way. Over by the tree Eragon tried to reach down Arya's shirt; there was a resounding SMACK! sound that echoed through the trees.

"Oh...nothing," Saphira muttered.

Maud considered for a moment, eyes gleaming slyly. She leaned closer. "Happy hatchday."

Saphira looked up, startled. The werecat vanished into the forest, a clever grin on her face.

Later Eragon and Saphira went back to their home. Saphira was beginning to feel mad at this point. It was nearly midnight, and no surprise party. Not even an acknowledgement, a puppy snack, a cake! Her eyes narrowed, she felt fire begin to burn in her throat.

"Well," Eragon said, stretching his arms and yawning. "I'm beat. I'm gonna hit the hay. G'night, Saphira."

Saphira growled.

"Oh!" he said suddenly, turning around. "One more thing..."

She looked up, hopefully. Was it now? Would he say it now, and then all the elves and friends and loved ones jump out from behind the furniture to yell surprise?

"Arya's birthday is next week," Eragon said. "Remind me to buy her a present some time tomorrow, okay?"

Saphira's mouth dropped open. Eragon went to bed. Once he was asleep, Saphira flew out the window and into the woods.

She landed in a clearing, her emotions turning between wanting to weep and rip something's throat out. Eragon had forgotten her hatchdayHer, Saphira, who did everything for him, the reason for all his powers and all the fame that came with them. She didn't get any powers in return, mind you. She didn't even get a hatchday cake.

Just then she heard a sound; she turned, and there was Maud sneaking out of the woods. She licked a bit of mouse blood off your hands. "Oh. Poor little dragon," she said sympathetically. "The stupid human forgot your hatchday?"

Saphira sniffled and nodded solemly. "He remembered Arya's, though," she said. She sobbed. "I guess he would remember mine if I could just give him a boner..."

She began to sob. Maud was silent for a minute, then smiled. "Do you want to get him back?"

Saphira sniffled again, then looked up. "How?"

Maud smiled, evil and catlike.

"Oh, Arya," Eragon muttered, turning over in his sleep. His eyes opened blearily in the morning light. He saw Arya's sleeping head beside him.

He gasped and sat up. "Oh, damn...it wasn't just a wet dream? YES!" He pumped his arm in the air, doing a little dance in bed. He began to shake Arya. "Arya! Get up! I want you to see my We Appparently Fucked Last Night dance, and---"

Just then, as he shook her, her head fell out of the bed and onto the floor.

Eragon's mouth dropped. "Uh...Arya?"

"But I didn't do it!" Eragon implored, looking up at the judge at his podium. "I don't know who killed Arya, or how she got in my bed, but---"

"Order!" the judge cried, banging his gavel. "Eragon Shadeslayer, based on all the evidence we've heard these last few months, I find you guilty of the murder of Princess Arya Drottningu, and sentence you to two billion years in the Ellesmera Maximum Security Prison of Butt-Raping."

"But---"

BANG! "Silence, murderer, or I'll have your butt-raping begin before you even get there!"

Eragon looked at the guard beside him nervously. He gave a big, toothy grin.

Sadly, Eragon was led out of the courthouse by his elven guards, towards a cart which would take him to jail. Saphira stepped out to speak with him. "Eragon, I just want you to know that I still believe you're innocent. I swear I will do everything I can to find the real killer."

Eragon nodded sadly. "Thanks, Saphira. You're a real friend."

The guards began to load him into the cart. "Oh, and Eragon?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't know if you've been keeping track, what with the long trial and all---these past few months have been hard---but do you realize the date?"

He thought for a moment. "Oh...it's the fifth of (Insert Alagaesian month)."

She smiled...a smile of pure, undiluted evil. "Yes. Happy birthday, Eragon."

And with that, they loaded him into the cart and drove away.


	11. Arya's SAT Prep

I'M BACK! After slightly more than a year, yes, I have remembered this story and am updating it. I will try to be more prompt in the future, though I am also juggling two other fics at the moment (both _Invader Zim_, if you happen to have ever watched that show feel free to look them up via my profile...please), so we'll have to see.

Anyway, about this chapter. Not sure if anyone else has ever seen these books, but I've seen at the bookstore these kind of weird novels that are supposed to be prep for the SATs--basically, they're normal books with your typical popular stories, except they're full of SAT-type vocabulary words with footnotes and definitions on the bottom of each page. Those inspired me to write this, rather more humorous, version myself. Definitions are at the end of the story, if you need them. Anyway, enjoy; I hope it's good enough to make up for my long absence.

* * *

Chapter Eleven  
Arya's SAT Prep

Eragon rapped the door three times with his knuckles. "Arya!" he called. "Arya, are you there? We have to get to the Varden's meeting to discuss our next plans to fight Galbatorix!"

"Urgh," said Orik, grimacing.

"What?" asked Eragon, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing, that sentence was just so...expository."

Eragon rolled his eyes and turned back to the doors of Arya's quarters (more exposition there...you know, just in case). He knocked. "Arya! Arya, are ya in there?"

"Just a second!" she called from inside. She sounded strained and extremely happy.

"Well, what's taking you? Finish sculpting your eyebrows and let's go, we're late!"

"Just a second! I'm busy masticating(1)!"

Eragon and Orik both blinked, then looked at each other. "Did she just say what I think she said?" Eragon asked.

Just then the door opened, and Arya emerged, a look of supreme pleasure on her face. "Mmm...that was some of the best mastication EVER," she said, licking some chocolate frosting off her fingers. "Anyway, come on, we have to get to the meeting."

And she walked off, leaving the slightly stunned pair behind. Orik looked confused; Eragon, mildly excited. After a moment they both followed behind her.

They got to the chamber where Nasuada was meeting with the other prominent members of the Varden; when they arrived only two people were already there, two men sitting by the fire named. One was named Hvitsärk Náttfarison; the other was named Bob Smith. They were talking together in low, measured tones.

"Did you hear about Njáll and Ted?" Hvitsärk asked, glancing up slightly as Eragon, Arya and Orik answered.

"Aye," said Ted, looking concerned. "Found together in the men's bathroom."

"Aye," Hvitsärk agreed. "What do you think should be done about it?"

"I don't know," Ted said, concerned. "On the one hand, I like the both of them. On the other hand, the idea of two men being together disturbs me greatly, even though that makes little historical sense since most of the cultures that historically have disapproved of homosexuality have been based on Abrahamic theology, whereas we seem to be pagan, with some hints of a mostly Nordic branch."

"Aye," Hvitsärk agreed. "And the fact that warrior societies actually tend to approve of it more than other cultures, as it builds a greater level of camaraderie between soldiers. Still, because Joe-Merl is basing us on the various authors and fanficers who try to make anachronistic social points with their stories, I still feel greatly disturbed by it." He turned now to Eragon and Orik, who were seated at the table, and Arya, who was still standing, her back to them, facing the dying hearth. "What do you all think?"

"I do not know either," Eragon said. "On the one hand, in the small village where I grew up, such relationships would have been greatly frowned upon, because such authors and fanficers tend to equate old medieval villages to modern small towns in the Southern United States. Yet, if I were to ask the elves, I am sure they would fully support any kind of sexual relationship, and probably give them marriage rights (even though they don't even have heterosexual marriage). I am truly puzzled."

"What do you think, Arya?" Orik asked.

"What?" Arya wasn't paying attention; she was staring into the dying fire, frowning. "Oh, I don't know...hmm, I think we should throw a few more faggots(2) into the fire, don't you?"

"WHAT?!" said Orik, eyes wide.

Hvitsärk was surprised too. "I--er, didn't think _you_ would feel that way," he said, a bit stunned.

"Well, of course you can't do it all the time," Arya said--after all, she thought, these were precious trees we were talking about--"but yes, throwing a few faggots into the fire now and then is permissible. Even necessary, for the good of the people around them."

Hvitsärk and Bob looked at each other. Hvitsärk shrugged. "Alright...I guess we'll take your advice."

And they got up and left to go find Njáll and Ted.

Eragon and Orik were still gaping at Arya when the door opened. Nasuada came in, looking tired, her arms full of papers. "Hello, everyone," she mumbled, sitting down at the table and dropping her burden with a sigh.

"What's the matter?" Orik asked, frowning at her.

"Oh, it's just this whole money issue with the Varden," she sighed, sifting through her many papers and books. "I need to come up with _some_ way to get more money, but I just don't know how. We can barely even afford food right now...we can only afford the cheapest of stale breads from the local bakeries, and we're down to buying store-brand diet cola. If we don't come up with some new source of money soon, our troops will all starve!"

"Oh, Nasuada," Arya said, crossing her arms and shaking her head. "Really, my friend, that will not due. You're acting like such a niggard(3)."

For the third time in one chapter, Eragon and Orik's eyes went wide. Nasuada looked as though she had been slapped. "What...did you say?"

"Well, I'm sorry, Nasuada," said Arya, in that maddening calm, Mary-Sueish tone she using after horribly insulting people, "but you're just acting awfully niggardly. I mean, really, maybe niggards like you just aren't smart enough to run an organization as complex as the Varden--unlike we smart, economical elves."

Nasuada stood from her chair, stalking and glaring at Arya. "You shut your mouth, bitch," she snarled, snapping her fingers in full cliched-sassy-black-chick fashion.

"Oh, now, don't get all insulted," Arya said, seeming hurt that Nasuada was taking her money advice so badly. "I mean, alright, you're not good with these kinds of decisions, but you're good at other things. You put in a lot of hard work, and I've seen you in battle, you're great at chucking a spear--"

"Okay, THAT'S it! ARGH!"

"Agh!"

Nasuada leapt onto Arya, wrestling her to the ground, as Eragon and Orik looked on, still stunned (and in Eragon's case...yeah, a little turned on).

"Die, cracka!"

"Agh!"

The moral of the story is, choose your words carefully, or you could wind up like Arya, who you can now find in the dictionary next to the term "faux pas." Also, while you're there, check and you'll discover that "gullible" isn't in there. No, really. I swear. Heh-heh.

* * *

**WORD BANK:**

(1) Masticate (verb): to chew

(2) Faggot (noun): a log.

(3) Niggard (noun): a cheap, stingy person.

Random note: I would just _love_ for Hillary Clinton to try to use the word "niggard" in a speech. Like, "Barack Obama's health care plan does not go far enough; he says he's trying to conserve money, but with the problems facing Americans today, I say he's just being a niggard." This has nothing to do with my politics; I would just find it endlessly amusing.


	12. Durza Orders a Cheezeburger

Somebody requested a Durza chapter! And, yeah...this is what I came up with. I don't know exactly _how,_ to be honest, but, well, there ya go. Hope you enjoy, and I hope I don't get sued for this. :-\

* * *

Chapter Twelve  
Durza Orders a Cheezeburger

It was a dimly lit, tiny, and miserable place; one outpost of a vast and terrifying empire that stretched across the world, enslaving all in its path. The people all around him were tired, weak, and starved; they came here because they had nowhere else to go, they had no other source of life, though this place could not supply true life, only a dull half-life that made one feel merely sick instead of weak with hunger. The people here were slaves to this place and its dark lords, pitiful fools willingly selling their souls to those who committed so much evil, all in exchange for what seemed so good, yet in truth was a fool's gold that would ultimately destroy them all after years and years of fruitless addiction.

"Welcome to McDonald's; may I take your order?"

Durza sighed and shifted from one foot to the other, as the man at the front of the line gave his order to the pimply-faced teenager behind the counter. Durza tapped his toe impatiently and looked at his anachronistic wristwatch; damnation all, he had to be at work in twenty minutes. _Hurry up..._

The greasy hobbledehoy was moving very slowly--_probably stoned, _Durza thought, on some of that special "Surdan powder" the Varden imported to fund their activities--what, you thought they really managed to run an entire military on _lace money?_--and the line was very long; but finally Durza was next in line behind a little old woman, crouched and bent down with age, who looked up at the boy behind the counter blearily, as if she could hardly see him even at this close distance.

"Welcome to McDonald's; may I take your order?" the boy repeated in a deadpan, monotone voice.

"Oh, yes, please," the woman said slowly; Durza thought he saw dust issue from her mouth with each breath. "Now...what do you have, dearie, I can't read the menu?"

"Uh..." The boy seemed thoroughly, but apathetically, perplexed by this question. "We have sausage?"

"Oh, no, no, I can't eat that...what else have you got, dearie?"

"Uh...we have one of those...bacon cheeze egg things?"

"No, no, my doctor said I shouldn't eat any dairy products...do you have anything else?"

"Uh...we have hash browns."

"I would like a hash brown, then."

"Uh...alright." The pimply-faced teenager rung that up. "That'll be...er...2 crowns, 68 bronze, please."

"Alright, then."

The decrepit old crone took out her satchel and began to count out every cent of the money, taking out each bronze piece at a time and counting them all with care. _Oh my dark, unholy gods! _Durza inwardly raged. How long was this old bat going to take?! Galbatorix was going to yell at him for being late, he just knew it--oh damn that stupid little idiot, how Durza hated him. Maybe today will be the day I overthrow him,Durza thought. I mean, it's totally obvious that Durza was planning to overthrow him, or was manipulating him to some other dark purpose, or something. Paolini was clearly setting that up, but then Durza went and died at the end of _Eragon_, so like, what the frick? Why bother setting that up at all? Is it going to be important in one of the later books? And if so, why kill Durza off? For that matter he did the same thing with Brom, make his backstory important but kill him before any of it really becomes apparent...

Durza was just contemplating how he could have died at the end of the first book, when he was standing there right now, when the old woman finally took her order and crept slowly away towards a table. Letting out a sigh, half of relief and half of frustration, Durza stepped toward the counter.

"Welcome to McDonald's; may I take your order?"

"Yes, I would like an Egg McMuffin, and be quick about it, you impudent whelp!"

"Uh...sorry, man, we're out."

"Out?! What?!"

"Yeah, we're, like...out of McMuffin stuff or...something."

"Why you--!" Durza raised a hand, which began to crackle with dark electricity.

"Whoa, calm down, man," the boy said, in the same dull and apathetic tone. "We got the delivery guy coming in in a minute, just hold on..."

Durza growled, then set his elbow on the counter and put his head in his hand. He glared at the clock and at the unnoticing youth in turn.

There was silence for a moment. "So...how 'bout them Mets?" the idiot foolboy asked in his monotone.

"Do not speak," Durza hissed.

Five more minutes passed before another greasy, pimply drone came in from the back. "Hey...we got stuff now."

"Ah, okay," the first zombie said. He turned back to Durza. "We got stuff now," he added unnecessarily.

"Good. Finally. Then I would like an egg McMuffin please."

"Uh...sorry, i'can't."

_"What do you mean, you can't?!"_

"We only serve breakfast 'til 11." The boy nodded over to the clock. Durza turned. Sure enough, the long hand was just a few millimeters past the number 12, with the shorter hand a few millimeters past the 11.

"You only--oh, that is it!" Durza raised a hand again, summoning up the dark forces within him to destroy this soulless beast.

"Whoa man, calm down," the boy said in his deadpan tone, maddeningly indifferent to his imminent demise. "Who wants breakfast this late anyway? Would you like to order lunch?"

With great effort, Durza lowered his hand and glared out of his red eyes at this idiotic mortal man-child. "Lunch? Fine. I would like a cheezeburger. But take heed, foolish whelp! I want a plain, simple cheezeburger, without anything but ketchup upon it. No pickles, no mustard, no mayonnaise or any of those other _disgusting_ things you humans find reason to put upon your meals, which sickens my mighty Shade body. If I find anything of the sort, I swear by all the dark powers of this world and all others that I will arrange for you to lose even the oh-so-slim _chance _you have of ever laying with a woman, do you understand me?" He tapped his fingers on the pommel of his sword threateningly.

The soulless teenager's eyes gave the very tiniest flicker of fear for a moment, but it quickly disappeared into his clouded visage. "Uh...whatever, man."

Durza waited, still glaring at the impassive simpleton before him. A moment later the second rodent emerged with Durza's victuals on a plastic tray, which Durza snatched up before sweeping, ominously and majestically, to a seat near the back of the restaurant, his cloak billowing behind him.

Durza unwrapped his burger, raised it to take a bite, and then realized with annoyance that he had to go get some condiments. He growled in annoyance and swept, ominously and majestically, over to the other side of the horrible room to get some ketchup. Then he sat back down, raised his burger again and realized he had forgotten to get a napkin. He let out a hiss this time and got up, sweeping ominously and majestically _back_ across the room and got a napkin. After sweeping ominously and majestically _back_ to his table, he sat down, took a deep breath to steady himself, picked up his burger and took a bite.

And stopped dead.

Slowly, carefully, he lowered his burger to the tray, picked up his napkin, spat his food into it, and then set it carefully down beside his burger. He slowly, gingerly, peeled back the top bun of his food. Sure enough, mayonnaise was slathered all over his meat patty, with three pickles, one half-eaten, mixed in with the disgusting slop.

Durza took three more deep, steadying breaths, then calmly rose from his seat and walked across the restaurant to the counter. The ugly foolboy was taking another order; as the Surdan woman took her tray and two children over to their seats, the boy looked up. He did not seem to recognize Durza as the Shade he had served not five minutes before. "Welcome to McDonald's; may I take your--_urgh!"_

In one swift motion Durza had swept his sword out from his sheath and stabbed the boy squarely in the middle of his thin, puny chest. As he stabbed the dark powers of his sword let out a blast of dark energy, purple and black, that tore across the boy's body, and shadowy, demonic shapes flew from it, moaning eerily. The boy's empty face looked mildly surprised for a moment, then he slumped down against the counter, dead with a moan of "dude..." One of the other youth fools glanced out of the kitchen, also looking taken aback. "Whoa, man," he said simply.

Durza turned on his heel and stormed out of the building, as everyone in the restaurant gaped at him in horror and shock. "They _always _do this!" he hissed under his breath, slamming the door open and marching across the parking lot to his Lethrblaka steed. "Every time I come here, they mess my order up--oh, that's it! Burger King from now on, I don't care who has the better fries, I want my order done _right!"_

* * *

You know, Paolini tries, kind of lamely, to throw in some backstory about Durza at the very end of _Eragon,_ to make him go from a totally evil creature to a poor, misunderstood creature; but it doesn't work too well, it's too sudden with no real warning. I think, if he really wanted to show Durza's dissent into maddness, he should have just shown a couple of scenes like this. I mean, come on, we all sympathize over here, right?

And incidently, if anyone reviews to correct my spelling of "cheeze," I'll send Durza over to give _you _a spelling lesson. 0:-D !!


	13. Earl's Three Wishes

Sorry it's been a while since my last update. Hope you enjoy this nice, fluffy tale of brotherly affection, featuring everybody's favorite pair of flesh-eating abominations, and an old fantasy cliche.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen  
Earl's Three Wishes

Traveling through the Hadarac Desert was never much fun, and even worse when on foot; but unfortunately for the Ra'zac Krashnaranthar his foul Lethrblaka parents, Saronasigan and Hathasanisag, were on a round-the-continent cruise for two in honor of their three-hundredth anniversary, leaving Krashnaranthar and his idiotic brother, Earl, to skulk through the harsh landscape, hissing softly to themselves like sinister snakes.

Or at least, Krashnaranthar hissed softly to himself like a sinister snake. Earl, on the other hand, was never inclined to such respectability.

"I'm _hungry!" _he whined, as a tic went across his brother's hooded face.

"Too bad. We are out of food until we find the Ssshhhur'tugal and hissss friendssss to eat."

A moment's pause. "I'm _tired!"_

"Too bad. The dragon givessss the Rider and hissss friendssss more than a day'ssss advantage over ussss, we cannot ssstop to rest until we catch them."

Another pause. "I'm _hot!"_

"Too bad. It issss cccenturiesss until sssomebody getsss around to inventing air conditioning, and we cannot change out of our long, heavy black robesssss without lossssing our cliccchhhed and mysssteriousss appearanccce."

Another pause. "I have to go _potty!"_

"Oh, for Helgrind'ssss sssake!"

So five minutes later, Krashnaranthar was standing with his arms crossed against the tree behind which Earl was doing his "business." After a few minutes of groaning and disgust, Earl called, "I think I'm done now."

"Good," Krashnaranthar said, uncrossing his arms and walking around to Earl. "Now can we get a move on already, we--"

_SQUISH._

Krashnaranthar froze. His beady, glowing eyes narrowed. He lifted his clawed, talonlike foot and glared at it. "Earl..."

Earl looked timid. "Yes?"

"Do remember when we talked about _burying_your ssshhhit?"

"Er...maybe?"

And so, while Krashnaranthar hopped off to clean his foot, Earl bent down over the ground and began to dig a hole to hide his waste in.

Just as Earl had decided that his hole was deep enough, his claws scratched against something cold and hard. He paused, wondering for a moment; was it a rock? His stomach growled; hoping against hope, he pulled it out of the ground, shaking off the dirt, and frowned in disappointment.

It wasn't a rock; instead it was something metal, an old-fashioned oil lamp (or a totally modern one, maybe, this would have been around the right time for them, right? Did they use them in Europe? Not that Alagaesia is in Europe, but were those kind of lamp designs mostly a Middle Eastern thing? Huh...)

Anyway, the logistics of this situation aside, Earl examined the lamp for a moment, wondering for a moment if he could eat this instead. It was metal; metal usually wasn't very good to eat, but then again neither were rocks, Mom and Dad and Krash were always telling him not to...actually, metal was usually a little better, if he cooked it a bit it would be a bit softer...

Can you guess what's about to happen? Huh? Stop and think for a minute, you know where this has to lead eventually...

Okay, time's up. Deciding the lamp may well be worth eating, there being no humans around, Earl took the lamp and began to rub it against his robe, hoping to get the dirt and grime off of it. And--surprise surprise!--as soon as he did so, the lamp began to glow, then smoke, and a moment later...

"Agh!" Earl cried, dropping the lamp, as out of the lamp materialized a smoky purple spirit (or maybe it was kind of pink, lilac, Earl thought, but not too girly), with its arms crossed over its chest. It wore an open vest and a stereotypical turban with a jewel in it, and other various Arab/Muslim touches, despite being able to speak English with an American accent in an apparently European setting.

"Greetings, mortal!" the smoky creature cried. "I am the Genie of the Lamp, and stuff! I am here to grant you three wishes, or something! Yeah."

Earl blinked. "Three wishes? Really?"

"Yeah. Totally, and stuff."

Earl's mind began to race. Three wishes! He could wish for all sorts of things, he thought--like a monkey! Or...or a cheezeburger! Or a monkey! Or that the author of this story would write a spin-off just about him and Krash, going around Alagaesia trying to capture Eragon and his friends. I mean, don't you wish for that too? 'Cause I'm kind of thinking about it, send in reviews if you think it would be a good idea...

"Wait...is the author actually using my thoughts to beg people for reviews?" Earl wondered, cocking his head to one side. "I mean, man, that's a desperate ploy."

Hey! This is my main source of self-esteem here, you know! Incidentally, if any readers here are familiar with the TV show _Invader Zim,_they can read my other current project, "Dib in the PITS," over in the Cartoons section--

"Agh!" Krashnaranthar hissed, coming around the tree, "why do I hear desssperate advertissssssementssss coming from over here? I--" _SQUISH. _"Agh!"

Krashnaranthar hopped on one foot again, glaring. "You were ssssupposssed to bury this, Earl! Now I mussst--" He looked up, then drew back in surprise as he spotted the Genie. "What manner of sssspirit issss that?" he asked, narrowing his glowing red eyes and lowering his foot to the ground, wiping it quickly on a tuft of dead grass.

"I am the Genie of the Lamp!" the Genie said dramatically. "Or something. And I am here to grant this mortal" he pointed dramatically at Earl "three wishes. Yeah."

"Three wissshhhesssss?" Krashnaranthar said, his eyes widening. He turned to his brother. "Earl, my idiotic sssibling, do you have any idea what thisssss meansssss?!"

"I can have a spin-off fic with a cheezeburger-eatin' monkey?"

"What? No! It meansssss that we can wissshhh for anything we desssire! We could become the rulerssss of thisssss kingdom! We could desssstroy the rebelssss with a word! We could have endlesssss prey to consume, we could rebuild our nearly-dessstroyed sssspecies, we could have--"

"I wish Angelina Jolie was here!" Earl cried suddenly, pointing dramatically into the air.

The Genie waved his hands and brought them together in a clapping motion; with a flash of light and smoke a tall, tanned woman appeared facing the other way, talking into a cell phone.

"Yes, then call _People _and tell them to cancel the interview, Zahara's feeling sick and I--hello?" She removed her cell phone from her ear and frowned at it. "That's weird, connection--" She looked up and suddenly became aware of her new surroundings. She sighed, scowling angrily. "Oh, crap. Who wished me here _this_ time?"

Earl raised his hand with a smile. Krashnaranthar rounded on him, glaring.

"Earl?"

"Yeah?" He turned to his brother, still waving at an annoyed Angelina.

"Why did you jusssst wasssste one of your wissshhhessss to ssssumon thisss human here?" He was trying to remain calm, but with every syllable his voice was rising in anger.

Earl gave Krashnaranthar his what-are-you-crazy look. "Krash," he said, speaking slowly as though his brother was dense not to know, "this is _Angelina Jolie._ She's an amazing actress, drop-dead gorgeous, and does tons of humanitarian work fighting poverty--"

_"Gorgeous?! This piece of skin and bones?!"_Krashnaranthar shrieked, waving his clawed arms wildly; for indeed, with her complete lack of claws, fangs or poisonous spines of any kind, Krashnaranthar could not think of anything attractive about her. She was even too skinny to make much of a decent meal. He gave a harsh laugh. "And assss for being an amazzzing actresssss, I cannot believe you would sssay _that_about the ssstar of freakin' _BEOWULF!"_

"And what was wrong with my part in _Beowulf?"_ Angelina Jolie asked indignantly, putting her hands to her hips.

"Yeah, she was totally hot in that movie, and junk," the Genie said, crossing his arms.

"Exxxxactly!" Krashnaranthar hissed, pointing an accusing finger at the actress. "Grendel'sssss mother isssss not sssupposssed to be _hot! _She issss ssssupposssed to be a terrifying monsssster, eating the flesh of the inoccccent while sssserving assss a metaphor for the unending cccycle of violencccce caussssed by the importancccce of revenge in ancient Norssssse culture! Insssstead _you,_and Neil Gaiman and all the othersssss, deccccide out of nowhere jusssst to make her into ssssome ssssort of cliched ssssex-object to attract male viewerssss, ruining one of the great villainssss of Western literature in the proccccessss! She was not ssssome common ssssuccubussss! _She was my favorite aunt!"_ he screeched, throwing back his head to cry hysterically to the heavens.

Earl frowned sadly. "Oh. I don't want Angelina to be here if it'll just make you mad."

"And I don't want to be here with a philistine who can't appreciate the aesthetic majesty of my naked body," Angelina Jolie said. She turned to the Genie. "Could you please send me home? Because, you know, I have like five kids at home and no one else was in the house...?"

"Alright, fine. Or whatever," the Genie said, and with another dramatic clap Angelina Jolie vanished.

"Oh! I was at least hoping to eat her," Krashnaranthar muttered, slapping his clawed hand against his hooded head. He sighed. "Well, you ssssimpleton, you have two wissshhhes left. Now, what you ssshhhould do isss--"

"I wish for a pink unicorn! With a rainbow mane and pegasus wings!"

_"What?!"_

The Genie crossed its arms and nodded its head, and with a puff of pink smoke Earl's wish appeared beside him, neighing and kicking the ground with a purplish hoof.

"Yay!" Earl cried, clapping his hands together and rushing to pet the unicorn's flowing, multicolored mane. He frowned. "But it's kind of more lilac than pink...almost lavender..."

_"Why did you wissshhh for thisss?!" _Krashnaranthar demanded, gesturing furiously to the braying creature.

"Because she's _prettiful!"_ Earl gushed, clapping his hands and batting his eyelashes.

_"Raaaggghhh!"_ Krashnaranthar spun around and kicked the unicorn in its pink/lilac/lavender flank. The beast blinked, then snorted. Its eyes narrowed. Krashnaranthar blanched as it lowered its horn and ran at him.

_"Agh!"_

Krashnaranthar went running; the unicorn took after, flapping into the sky and trying to impale him from above, braying with rage. Earl looked on from a few feet, listening to his brothers cries of pain and rage. He frowned.

"Oh...that didn't make Krash happy either," he said, turning to the Genie.

"Hmm. You seem to really love your brother, or something," the Genie said. "Maybe you should use your last wish on that?"

"That's a great idea!" Earl cried. "Okay, Genie--for my last wish, I wish that something would happen to make Krash happy!"

"As you wish! And stuff."

The Genie took out a magic wand, waved it, and in a flash Earl found himself suddenly running away from a rabid pegasus-winged unicorn, screaming as copies of _Beowulf_ DVDs fell from the sky like gigantic hailstones. Krashnaranthar sat on a set of bleachers, the Genie floating beside him, eating a thing of popcorn.

"Well, it'ssss not world domination," he said, shoveling some popcorn into his beak, "but it will do in a pinccchhh. Want sssome popcorn?"

"Please! Or whatever."

"Ssstop talking that way."

"No."

Krashnaranthar shrugged. The unicorn, meanwhile, impaled Earl in the butt, sending flying into the air, where he collided with a DVD box that exploded on contact. Krashnaranthar couldn't help but smile.

* * *

Seriously. I've never seen _Beowulf_ (or actually any Angelina Jolie movie...for that matter I rarely see any movies at all), and I know of and greatly respect her charity work, adopting kids and all that, but just hearing about the plot of that movie makes me want to scream.

And I know this will not be the end. Soon they'll be taking all the great works of Western literature, and replacing their iconic villains with Naked Angelina Jolie. No one is safe. Heck, I bet she'll find her way into _Brisingr_...or at least the _Eldest_ movie, if they try to make one.


	14. Angela Makes Waffles

WHOO! Over 5,000 hits for this story! And over 20,000 words with this chapter. That actually seems kind of pathetic, how much time and energy I've put into this...huh.

Also, apparently Angelina Jolie is pregnant. As is often the case with celebrity news, I was the last person in the world not to realize that. Had I, then she would have been pregnant during her brief appearance in Alagaesia. But...eh, whatcha gonna do? We'll just say that story takes place in the near past.

My ideas just keep getting randomer. I also seem to be neglecting the main characters and plot of the books lately. Will try to fix that in later chapters...maybe.

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Chapter Fourteen  
Angela Makes Waffles

"La la la LA!"

Solumbum growled, curled up on the rug. His witch-slave had been singing to herself all morning, and, as a cat, the thought of so much joy in the world was slowly filling him with horrible, horrible rage. Damn it, didn't she know what time it was?! It was noon, damn it! He was supposed to be _asleep!_

"And _what_is making you so chipper today?" he grumbled, finally giving up on his morning werecat-nap and stretching.

"I'm making _waffles!"_Angela sang, carrying a mixing bowl in one arm and holding a wooden spoon with the other. Then, more briskly, "The Varden are having their annual fundraising breakfast-for-dinner thing tonight, so I'm making my Alagaesia-famous waffles to help increase revenue. Just my way to help out the cause."

She turned back to happily mixing her batter. Solumbum just stared. "So...you're a powerful magician, trained in arcane and powerful arts, able to see through time and brew powerful spells and potions...and the best way you can think to contribute is to make waffles?"

"Yeah-huh."

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "I'm going out," he said simply, sauntering to the door. "I can think of more _useful_ ways to help out our cause."

And so, donning a black hood, he went off to torture and maim all the Imperial prisoners held in the dungeon that day.

Angela, humming to herself, went over to her spice cabinet and took down a few of her secret ingrediants--grounded roots, a sweetening serum, and some bile-of-toads-that-were-actually-frogs. Mixing these into her batter, she was about to pour them into ye olde waffle iron, when suddenly, A GANG OF MEXICAN VAMPIRES BURST IN THROUGH THE WINDOW!

"Agh!" Angela screamed, clutching her mixing bowl to her chest. "Mexican vampires!"

_"¡Somos vampiros mexicanos!"_ the lead vampire cried._"¡Dénos sus galletas, bruja ditzy!" _and he pointed a clawed talon at the mixing bowl in her arms.

Angela gasped. "You want my waffles? Never!" She threw the bowl down on the counter and made a karate pose. _"¡Intenta y tome, si usted tiene los cojones!"_

The vampires let out a collective roar and attacked, but Angela had her trusty wooden mixing spoon, and breaking it quickly on the counter edge, she had a workable stake. A few moments of brief fighting ensued, with fangs flashing, arms punching, and wood stabbing. When it was all over, Angela was standing there, bloody, bruised and with torn clothes, but surrounded by the rags, dust and sombreros of her vanquished foes.

Panting, she let out a sigh. "Oh, dear. Now I'll have to clean up this mess." And she grabbed a cleaning rag and got to work.

It took about fifteen minutes to clean up the mess--even with her strongest spells, that vampire dust made simply horrid stains on the tile--and, dusting herself off, she checked the sundial by the window. "Oh, dear--I have to hurry, or the waffles won't be done in time for the breakfast/dinner!"

She found, however, that her bowl of waffle mix was in no fit condition to be poured--a bit of vampire dust had gotten mixed inside it. Unwilling to throw the whole batch away, she managed to spoon out most of the corpse-ash, thinking that she should perhaps add a bit more vegetable oil to make up for any possible dryness. She had just gotten the bottle out of her cupboard, however, when suddenly, A FLOCK OF HORRIBLE HARPIES FLEW IN THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR!

"Agh!" Angela cried, throwing the bottle into the air. "Harpies!"

The flock of horrifying monsters cackled evilly--with the heads of women (and supermodels they were not) and the bodies of underfed vultures, their wings stinking of death and carnage, they flew around the room, diving at Angela, who bent over her mixing bowl in a desperate effort to protect it.

"We have been sent by your evil identical twin half-sister, Fallenangela, who has always been jealous of your waffle-making abilities, in order to ruin your food, since we harpies can instantly make even the most delicious foods terrible with a touch!"

"Oh no! That's horrible!" Angela cried.

"Yes, we shall ruin your waffles!" the harpy cried.

"No, I meant what you just said! It was so clunky and expository!" Angela said. "I mean, really, does the author care about verisimilitude at all?"

The witch paused in her protecting-waffles-from-harpies task for a moment to consider the implications of that statement, then she shook her head and then cried out, "But I won't let you harpies ruin my food!"

"Ha!" another harpy cried. "Foolish witch! You know that no good magic has power over us! How do you intend to stop us?"

"With my ROBOTIC MONKEY ARMY!" Angela cried, pointing into the air dramatically.

The harpies all blinked. "Robotic monkey army?" one said, cocking her head to one side.

"ATTACK!"

Suddenly, from everywhere--behind the chairs, under the tables, pouring out of the bedroom and the cauldrons and Solumbum's litter box--came dozens of robotic monkeys, who leaped at the harpies, pounding them into a bloody pulp with their metal fists. Unaffected by their horrible spells, or the harpies' inherit magical resistance, the monkeys made quick work of the fell demons, and after a few brief moments of squawking and the flying of feathers, the beasts all lay dead upon the floor.

"Whoo...thank you, drones," Angela said, relaxing and placing her mixing bowl back on the counter. "Now, just gather up the bodies and dump them somewhere, would you?"

"Where, mistress?" one robot asked, hefting up a harpy corpse.

"Hmm..." Angela thought for a moment.

* * *

Arya let out a contented sigh. "Mmm...that was a nice nap," she said, stretching her arms and legs in her bed. Then she froze. "What feels like feathers?" she wondered, sitting up and blinking blearily.

* * *

Angela heard a distant scream. Smiling contentedly, she peeled the last of her waffles from the anachronistic waffle iron, and set it on the plate with the others. "There," she said, smiling to herself. "Now all I need are some strawberries..." She bustled over to the fridge. "Strawberries with my secret waffle recipe makes for the greatest meal..."

So she dug around in the fridge, looking for strawberries, which apparently grow in Alagaesia. Does that make sense? I don't know, I don't even know where strawberries grow in this reality...or for that matter the Alagaesian climate. Wait, does this story take place when the Varden are in the mountains or Surda? Could either support strawberry production? I doubt they could have imported them from somewhere else, I mean, with rising gas prices that's getting very expensive, and they don't even have any of that...

And while we're off topic of the story anyway, I would like to remind readers to please leave reviews, and to check out my other--

"Stop with that in the middle of the story!" Angela cried, taking a bowl of strawberries out of the fridge. "I mean, seriously, it's totally lame!"

Rolling her eyes, she went to the counter and began to cut up the strawberries, but just as she was almost done, LORD VOLDEMORT SUDDENLY APPARATED INTO THE ROOM!

"Agh!" he cried with a jump. "This isn't Hogsmeade!"

"Agh!" Angela cried, jumping up with the knife still in her hands. Then she blinked. "T--Tom?"

Lord Voldemort blinked. "Oh--A-Angie? It's, uh..." he looked away awkwardly, "been a long time."

"Yes, it has," she said softly, looking off into the distance. "Not since that night in Tijuana, when we--wait!" She spun around, glaring. "I know what this is about! You're after my secret waffle recipe, aren't you?!"

"Huh?" The Dark Lord blinked. "Wuh--no. I was just trying to Apparate, and I must have overshot with an Interdimensional Rift and--"

"Well, you didn't get them in the divorce proceedings and you're not getting them now!" Angela cried, and deftly threw her knife at him. It went spinning in the air in a dramatic, unrealistic action-movie-ish way and pierced him in the chest. He let out a cry and vanished in a puff of smoke, his soul flying off back to the _Harry Potter_universe. Right? Yeah, that makes sense, because they're bound to the Horcruxes, that's why he doesn't go to Weird Magical Train Heaven, and since they're in the HP world...yeah, that makes sense. I think.

"Huh," Angela said, throwing back her hair and bending down to pick up the knife from the floor. "Well, _that_ was awkward. Anyway, I have just enough time to clean this up, finish cutting up those strawberries and get these waffles down to the fundraiser!"

Just as she was finishing up, Solumbum sauntered in. "Well, found out some mildly important information and three prisoners died," he said, arching his back lazily and slipping off his hood. "How was your day?"

"Busy," she said. "But look!" She held up her waffles triumphantly, laughing. "Got them all done. Now we can go deliver them to the fundraiser!"

"Great," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

So the two went off for the dining chamber where the fundraiser was to take place. Everybody in Alagaesia was there practically, including most of the good characters and even a few minor villains. Outside the dining chamber, they met Nasuada, who was doing some quick math on a clipboard.

"Hell-o!" Angela trilled happily, swooping over to her, holding up her plate. "I have my contribution to the Varden right here, a big, heaping stack of my Alagaesia-famous waffles!"

Nasuada looked up, startled. "Oh." She looked sheepish. "Um...actually, Angela, we cancelled the whole breakfast/dinner thing."

Angela's face fell. "Cancelled...it?"

"Um...yes, I'm sorry. Didn't you hear? There just wasn't enough interest, so we had to come up with a better way to raise the funds..."

Just then the door to the chamber opened, and That Blonde Chick With the Dragon Tattoo emerged, wearing only a skin-tone bathrobe with a picture of a dragon on it identical to her tattoo. She held a cigarette in one hand and a stack of money in the other. "Here you go, boss," she said, casually tossing the money into Nasuada's hands.

"Ah, thank you, Neya..." Nasuada said, quickly flicking through the money to count it. She looked up at Angela. "I hope you're not too disappointed?"

Angela forced a smile. "Oh, no. Not disappointed at all."

And then she f-ckin' murdered them.

Somehow pulling that weird spear thing she fights with out from behind her back--a huthvir or whatever it's called--she let out an almighty screech and lunged, her plate of waffles flying through the air as she stabbed Nasuada in the chest with one blade, pulling it out to stab the Elf Chick with the other before she even had time to respond. Then she went on a massive killing spree throughout the entire place, slaughtering all in her path until she stood alone among a pile of bodies and blood-soaked walls.

Solumbum sauntered up, blinking. "Wow, Ang--you managed to kill the entire main cast of the _Inheritance Cycle_ except for you and me."

She shrugged, throwing her spear-thingy away. "Whatever. We're the only interesting characters anyway. Wanna go to Tijuana?"

"Let's!"

And so they did. But that's another story.

Now, leave reviews and check out my--

_"Stop that!"_

Eep. (Runs away.)

* * *

To any Spanish-speaking readers: do not flame me if there is some sort of grammar mistake in this chapter. If you wish to explain my error, cool, because I actually enjoy languages. But this whole thing is supposed to be funny, so I honestly didn't bother translating too closely. Note the untranslated "ditzy," for example.

And the idea of Mexican vampires comes from a joke on the TV show _American Dad!_ Robot monkeys come from one of the most random and amusing episodes of _South Park. _And Lord Voldemort...well, I assume we all know _that._


	15. Who's Yo' Mama?

WHOO! This story just passed 5,800 hits! Thanks to all my readers who made that possible! I hope you enjoy this chapter, but first...

**WARNING!:** Knopf and Christopher Paolini have released promotional spoilers about the book _Brisingr._ If you don't want to know them before the book comes out, _DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER,_ as it concerns the most recent one.

And with that, onto the story.

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Chapter Fifteen  
Who's Yo' Mama?

"One of us is _WHAT?!"_

Arya, Angela, Trianna, Elva, Saphira, Islanzadi and Katrina all gaped at Nasuada, who responded back with an expression of suppressed inner panic.

"Yes...yes, it's true," she said, taking a deep, steady breath. "According to Paolini's most recent spoiler, one of us..." She looked around at all the women assembled in the room. "One of us is _pregnant._"

Everybody simply continued to gape.

Finally Saphira broke the silence.

"Um...how?"

This led to a very awkward moment. Everybody shifted uncomfortably; Saphira, who we must keep in mind is less than a year old, looked around with innocent curiosity.

Elva, who was about as young but a little more street savvy, leaned forward to whisper in the dragon's ear. Did you know dragon scales could turn pale with horror? Well, turns out they can. "Ugh!" she cried, rearing back. "But why would people _do_ that?"

Elva shrugged. "People are kind of f-cked up, sister."

"Well, it can't be me," Arya said, throwing back her oh so lovely black hair and drawing herself up.

"How do you know?" Trianna asked disdainfully, putting her hands on her hips. "It would fit, after all, you _are_ the main female protagonist."

"For some reason," Nasuada muttered so quietly no one else could hear.

"And not exactly the innocent girl next door, either," Islanzadi said in a louder grumble, crossing her arms over her chest.

Arya rounded on her. "And what is _that_ supposed to mean, Mother?"

"Oh, come _on,_ Arya," Islanzadi said. "You can't fool me. 'No, Mom, those are my briefs in the laundry basket, I swear.' Pfft." She rolled her eyes sardonically. Arya looked as if she were going to argue, but Nasuada cut her off.

"Look, Arya's raging slutiness is not the topic at hand," she said, leaving Arya looking even more enraged. "The question is, which one of us is pregnant?"

"It can't be me," Saphira said. "I can't get pregnant. Oviporous. Thank the non-existent gods," she added.

"Unless you get anthropomorphized," Trianna said.

"What?"

Trianna smirked her evil smirk. "Well. There is a _lot_ of Eragon/Saphira shipping, you know. Paolini could fulfill so many creepy, creepy people's dreams..."

"Not to mention, you're the only female dragon," Islanzadi added, clearly enjoying the horrified expression that was forming on Saphira's face. "You have to get knocked up--er, or have a child somehow--eventually, you know; probably not with Eragon, but there's Thorn, Shruiken, Greenie..."

"Or Glaedr," Arya added.

Islanzadi rolled her eyes. "No. Not him."

"But why...?"

"He, um..." Islanzadi made a limp-wristed motion with her hand. "Isn't in to that sort of thing."

Arya's eyes went wide. "_Oh..._well, that explains a lot, then," Arya said, her mind wandering to that very awkward road trip to Tijuana many years before.

"It won't be me," Trianna said with a dismissive motion. "I don't have any potential love-interest. I was supposed to be hitting on Eragon in _Eldest,_ I think trying to seduce him into Du Vangr Gata or something, but of course _you_" she pointed at Arya disdainfully "have to be his 'twu wuv,' so nothing could have ever come from that. I" she drew herself up proudly "have never f-cked in the entire series. And never been happier about that, I must say."

"It's true, Paolini wouldn't knock you up," Nasuada said, wringing her hands. "Oh, I hope it's not me."

"Who could knock you up?" Elva asked. "Murtagh is gone; he was your primary love interest."

"Well...there's Orrin."

"_Orrin?_"

"You got the hots for _Orrin?_"

"No! But some people like to pair us together--you know how it goes, the more antagonistic two characters are in a story, the more people want to force them together. What if Paolini...I mean, you know how much he likes to try to add political complications to his stories, you know, to make up for how unoriginal the plot is? Well, think about it! The leader of the Varden getting knocked up, out of wedlock, with the King of Surda's child? Oh!"

"It won't be you," Elva said reassuringly. "Paolini has worked too hard trying to prove he's not sexist to lose even one of his warrior princesses. It'll be Angela, Islanzadi or Katrina."

"Or you," Angela said scornfully.

Elva gaped. "I'm, like, five years old!"

"No, you're, like, a year old," Arya said. "That doesn't stop you from walking and talking."

"And I have seen some Eragon/Elva ships, too," Trianna said.

"What do you do, spend your whole day looking up the most disturbing fanfictions possible?!" Elva demanded, her eyes flaming.

"I don't _read_ them. I just _see_ them. And, you know...rapid aging thing. By the time _Brisingr_ gets out, you could be a sixteen-year-old lesbian for all we know."

"...If I was a lesbian how would I get pregnant?"

"Ye olde anachronistic sperm bank," Trianna said with a shrug. "Hmm, a knocked up lesbian _would_ be yet another liberal message Paolini could awkwardly shove into the story..."

"I'm not a lesbian!"

"Sure you're not, Ellen," she said, rolling her eyes. "Then why have you never had a boyfriend?"

"_I'm one year old!_"

"Well, it can't be me," Angela said. "I'm too quirky and weird to be pregnant. And I have no love interests at all."

Arya made a cough that sounded disturbingly close to "Solumbum." Angela glared.

"Oh, come on. We _all_ know it."

"We _all know _it will be Katrina," Angela said offhandedly, motioning to her.

Katrina's jaw dropped. "What? Why me?!"

"Because, you're the only one of us that has had a sex scene," Arya said. "And it would certainly heighten the drama, Roran having to rescue his girlfriend--only to find out she's pregnant!"

"But I don't want to have a kid! I'm not even married yet! My dad would _kill_ me!"

"Your dad already got you kidnapped by a group of horrible, demonic maneating monsters, I don't think he can do much worse than that. Actually," Arya said thoughtfully, an evil smile forming on her lips, "maybe Roran isn't even the father."

"Wh--what do you mean?"

"Oh, come on. I _saw_ the way you and that Earl were making eyes at each other."

"You know what I think?" Trianna said suddenly. "_I_ think you'll be pregnant, and then wind up getting an abortion."

"_What?!_"

Trianna nodded. "You see, because then there's supposed to be that 'moral quandary' after they rescue you, and that would be it--Paolini could toss in a whole spiel about abortion! It all fits perfectly!"

"But I don't want an abortion!"

"Well, you have to!" Arya cried. "Women have a right to choose!"

"But I'm choosing no!"

"Well, that's hardly as heroic. Er, heroine-oic."

"She can't get an abortion!" Elva cried. "I won't allow it!"

"And who are _you_ to infringe on _her_ right to choose?!"

"I'm not choosing that!"

"_I'm_ the one who goes into terrible, horrible pain if any living thing is threatened around me. I _have _to try and stop it," Elva explained, rolling her eyes.

"Wow, that curse thing is a bitch, ain't it?" Nasuada said.

"Preachin' to the choir, sister. And what, you elves are afraid to step on an ant but you're in favor of abortion? How does that make sense?"

"Enough!" Nasuada said, bringing the meeting to order. "So we all agree Katrina is the one who'll be pregnant?"

"Aye!"

"But I don't _want_ to--"

"Alright then, meeting ajourned!" Nasuada said, clapping her hands and motioning them to leave.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Excerpt from _Brisingr_ (Knopf, 2008):

_"Master Oromis," Eragon said, putting a hand to his swollen stomach, "I believe Galbatorix's minions have managed to cast some sort of wicked spell upon me. I have gained much weight, and have been vomiting most severely every morrow this fortnight."_

_Oromis turned pale. "Er," he said, fiddling nervously. "Um...well, Eragon, actually...let me tell you the story of what happens when an elf man and a human boy do...that special thing that we did last month..."_


	16. Eragon: the Last Airbender

I always worry a bit when I plan chapters of this story that reference other series...so, hopefully I have a few fans of this show amongst my readers. Sorry to those who have no idea what this chapter is about.

Now, must prepare for "Sozin's Comet" tonight! Only eight and a half hours! Agh!

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Chapter Sixteen  
Eragon: The Last Airbender

_Elves. Dwarves. Broddring. Surda..._

_My mother used to tell me stories about the old days, a time of peace when the Dragon Rider kept the balance between the Elven Tribes, Dwarf Kingdom, Broddring Nation and Surdan nomads. But that all changed when the Broddring Nation attacked. Only the Avatar mastered all the kewl magic powers. Only he could stop the ruthless brisingrbenders. But when the world needed him most, he vanished._

_A hundred years have passed and the Broddring Nation is nearing victory in the war. Two years ago, my father and the men of the Varden journeyed to the Dwarf Kingdom to help fight against the Broddring Nation, leaving me and my mother to look after our tribe. Some people believe that the Dragon Rider was never reborn into the Surdan Nomads and that the cycle is broken, but I haven't lost hope. I still believe that somehow the Avatar--er, Dragon Rider, Dragon Rider!--will return to save the world..._

...

"It's not getting away from me this time," Vanir said, leaning over the side of the canoe as it drifted through the Gaena River. "Watch and learn, Arya. This is how you catch a fish."

"I thought we elves were vegetarians," Arya said, raising her eyebrow.

Vanir blinked. "Er...we are. By Catholic standards."

"But aren't we also ath--"

Vanir held up a hand, ignored her, raised his spear and gazed into the water. Arya sighed and looked down into the river. A fish swam by, close to the surface. She paused, then reached her hand towards the water, twirling her fingers. A glob of water with the fish within rose out of the river, hovering before her.

_WTF? _the fish thought, eyes widening. Arya turned, excited. "Vanir, look!"

_"Shh," _Vanir whispered. "Arya, you're gonna scare it away. Mmmm, I can already smell it cookin'!"

"But Vanir, I caught one!" Arya struggled with the glob of water; unskilled with her magic, she found it quickly sapping her energy, destabilizing her water-glob and making the fish inside totally freak out and stuff, wondering what would become of its fish-wife and their many many fish-children.

Vanir, completely oblivious to all this, leaned back to strike a fish he saw on his side of the canoe, and in doing so bumped into the glob of water, which burst. Vanir was suddenly soaked; the fish flopped back into the river, swimming away quickly from these freaky pointy-eared wackos with their magical crap.

"Hey!" Vanir cried angrily, spinning around.

Just then the current picked up, sending the little boat through a bumpy area of the river filled with rocks. "Ah!"

The two elves dove to the side of the boat, trying furiously to manuever it.

"Go left! Left!"

"You call that left?!"

The ship crashed against a rock, just as the two jumped out onto the shore. The canoe shattered into pieces; the two looked at each other, stunned.

Vanir turned to her indignantly. "Why didn't you adurnabend us out of the rocks?!"

"So it's my fault?"

"I knew I should have left you home. Leave it to a girl to screw things up!"

"You are the most sexist, immature, nut-brained--hey, what's that?"

She pointed. Vanir turned. In the water behind them was a giant iceberg.

The two stared.

Finally Vanir spoke. "How is there an iceberg in the middle of Du Weldenvarden? It is not cold enough for an iceberg in the middle of Du Weldenvarden."

"Especially not with all the Alagaesian warming," Arya added.

Well, you know, that's what the story calls for. I considered making it just a big boulder in the water, but...

"Hey, who said that?"

Um--no one. Just, uh, get back to the story now.

"O...kay," Vanir said, raising an eyebrow. He turned to Arya. "Well, let's just go home now. I'm sure there's absolutely nothing interesting hiding in that iceberg."

But Arya had hopped over to it to look anyway. Through the ice she could see a strange shape--it looked like a person, she thought, sitting in a meditative position. On the back of one hand she could see a strange shape, which suddenly began to glow. As it did, the entire iceberg began to glow and shake, and she jumped off.

"What the fu--"

The iceberg split in two, and then crumbled; and a moment later, staggering out of it, was the shape of a person.

Vanir raised his spear. "Stop!"

The figure did not stop, but he staggered, and fell to the ground. Arya and Vanir exchanged a look, then ran for him. He was a human teenager, and he seemed to be unconscious. Vanir poked him with the shaft of his spear. "Poke. Pokey-pokey."

"Stop it," Arya said in annoyance. She bent down over the figure. His eyes slowly opened, and he took in the sight of the beautiful, exotic woman knelt over him.

"I need to ask you something," the figure said hoarsely.

"What?" Arya asked, bewildered.

"Please--come closer..."

She bent down. "What is it?"

His eyes opened wider and in a normal, even eager voice, he asked, "You wanna do it?"

"_Urgh!_" Arya slapped his head away from her. The figure sat up, blinking annoyedly.

Just then Arya heard a sound from the remains of the iceberg. The young man snapped to attention. "Saphira!" he cried, running up the icy hill and looking down into the crater within. Arya and Vanir followed, and to their amazement a large blue dragon was curled up inside, breathing bits of flame out of its nostrils.

The two elves stopped. "That's a dragon."

"Yup!" the human said brightly. "I'm E--Eh--Eh-CHOO!" He sneezed, sending a huge amount of snot onto Vanir's face. He growled as the human calmly wiped his nose. "Eragon," he finished. "And this is my dragon Saphira."

"Dragon? OMG!" Arya cried. "You're the Dragon Rider!"

"Eh...yup," Eragon said.

"But--like--the Dragon Rider disappeared a century ago! Ever since the war started with the Broddring Nation!"

"Whosa-jigga-what now?"

"Yeah! A hundred years ago the Dragon Rider disappeared, and that allowed the evil Brisingr-Lord Galbatorix to wipe out the Surdans and start this war! You and your dragon must have been frozen in there for a hundred years!"

"Huh. Hundred-year-long reign of evil. That fits both stories," Eragon said thoughtfully. "But, wait--I'm a Surdan?"

"Er, yeah. I think so."

"But that doesn't make sense. In the books I'm from the Empire, which is the Broddring Nation in this chapter, so why am I a Surdan?"

Because Surdans are the equivalent to Air Nomads, you twit.

"Huh? Who said that? And why? If anything shouldn't Surdans be, like, the Fire Nation, because it's all hot there and stuff?"

No, because the Broddring Kingdom has to be the Fire Nation because they're the bad guys. The elves have to be the Water Tribes so that Arya matches up with Katara, and the dwarves have to be the Earth Kingdom because--okay, you know what? Just roll with it, okay? It was either write it this way or make you Zuko.

"Speaking of that, when's he coming into this story?" Arya wondered.

Just then, a bit ironclad ship appeared out of nowhere and crashed into the shore.

"Agh!" Vanir cried.

The ship let down its ramp, and the door in its hull opened. Out stepped a young man with a gedway ignasia scarred under his eye, and an old, fat man.

"I am Prince Murtagh of the Broddring Nation," the young man said, all totally dramatic and stuff.

"And I'm his uncle, Tornac," the older man said.

"Who?" Arya asked, raising an eyebrow.

"They kept mentioning me in _Eragon, _I'm the guy who taught Murtagh to fight, or something. I think I'm supposed to be important later on, but so far we know nothing about me, not even enough to construct much of a personality. So, with that and Iroh's relative unimportance during this fight, I'll just step back and watch."

And so he did.

"I have been searching for years for the Dragon Rider, ever since my evil father gave me this scar and banished me from my kingdom," Prince Murtagh said, his voice full of angst and emo-ness. "Though I am truly good in my heart and struggle constantly with my evil upbringing, only by capturing you can I restore my honor, and take my rightful place as heir to the--hey, where are you going?!"

Arya, Vanir and Eragon turned around, having been walking away into the forest.

"What? Oh, sorry...it's just...you know, watch the show once, you already pretty much know all of your dialogue," Eragon said with a shrug.

Murtagh glared, his eyes--one normal, one injured--both flashing. "Now, Dragon Rider, prepare to be captured. _BRISINGR!"_

He jumped forward and Brisingrbended (Brisingrbent?) a blast of flames that whipped around, nearly hitting Eragon, Arya and Vanir, but they all jumped out of the way. Murtagh spun around to deliver another Fire Blast (wait, I'm getting this mixed up with Pokemon again, aren't I?), but Eragon quickly jumped onto his dragon, grabbing her reins.

"Saphira! Yip yip!"

Saphira roared and flew into the air, then swept down quickly to allow Arya and Vanir to jump on. Then she flapped her great wings and rose into the air, as Murtagh glared up, then ran back onto his ship. "Uncle! Come on!"

Tornac, however, was now asleep under a tree. Murtagh let out a frustrated growl.

Meanwhile, in the air, Vanir looked around in confusion. "Um...where are we going?"

"Well, on the show they started heading for the North Pole," Eragon said. "So...I guess we're heading for whenever else in Alagaesia they have elves?"

"But they don't have elves anywhere except for Du Weldenvarden," Arya said.

Eragon frowned. "Huh. I don't know, I think the story's starting to peter out. Let's just end it with us flying away and the bad guys chasing us."

"That's probably best, yeah."

And so, with the angsty and ambiguously evil Murtagh's ship following behind them, the magical flying dragon and its passangers flew away into the sunset.

I think this chapter kind of sucked, but I hope you all liked it. And with that I am officially halfway through the chapters of this story! Whoo! Now...just sixteen more to do.

Oof.

Anyway, thanks to Avatarspirit dot com for having episode transcripts for me to copy. And, since I currently have _Avatar_ on the brain, the next chapter might be _Avatar-_based as well (though in a different way). Unless I get no reviews for this story, or only reviews that tell me nobody watches the show, in which case I'll try something else. So...please review!


	17. The Way They Might Do It, Part II

My idea of doing another _Avatar_ chapter has been scrapped, I think, because while I got generally positive reviews about it, many people commented they don't watch the show, and the other idea I had wouldn't have made much sense to someone who didn't watch it a lot; it was going to be _Inheritance_ characters' commentaries on all of last week's episodes.

Anyway. You all get this chapter instead. Hope you enjoy!

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Chapter Seventeen  
The Way They Might Do It, Part II

Solumbum yawned, sauntering up the hallway towards his and Angela's quarters, when he stopped, raising an eyebrow at the sight of her, Orik, Nasuada and Murtagh all sitting on the floor with a bowl of popcorn, staring at a random door for absolutely no reason apparent to him.

"Um, hey," Solumbum said.

"Hey," Orik said, tossing a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth.

Solumbum looked from the group to the door, and then back to the dwarf and asked, "So, uh...what are you all doing here?"

"Oh, just listening to Arya and Eragon have sex," Nasuada explained, reaching over Orik's shoulder for a handful of popcorn.

Sure enough, just then an ecstatic shout of glee from Eragon came through the door, and the sound of mattress springs. Solumbum's eyes went wide as he gaped from it back to the group. Then he grinned. "This is _so_ wrong," he said, completely unconcerned, as he sat down next to Orik and jabbed a piece of popcorn with one claw.

"Hee-hee...this is great," Murtagh asked, rubbing his hands together.

Solumbum raised an eyebrow at him. "Aren't you supposed to be evil at this point in the story?" he asked. "And for that matter, isn't it a little creepy that you're spying on your little brother losing his virginity?"

"What? I'm not getting turned on by this like any of you freaks," Murtagh said, stuffing some popcorn into his mouth. "I'm just waiting for something funny to happen."

"That's why we're all here. _None_ of us are getting turned on by this," Angela said, rolling her eyes.

"I am," Orik muttered, eliciting a disturbed look from everyone else in the room.

"Oh! Oh, Eragon! ERAGON!" came Arya's voice from inside the room, causing everybody to forget Orik's perversion and break out in barely-suppressed giggles.

"Oh!" said Eragon. "Yes! Oh, yes...oh, Arwen! Arwen, Arwen!"

The sound of the mattress springs immediately stopped.

"_What_ did you say?" Arya's voice came through the door, no longer at all happy but sounding as cold as her heart is in the canon.

"Ooooh!" Murtagh was practically dancing in his seat. "Here it comes," he said, grinning ear to ear.

Eragon, sputtering confusedly, spoke after a moment. "I just...called out your name, 'Arya, Arya...'"

_"Nooooo,"_ Arya said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You said Ar_wen._ Not Ar_ya._"

"Oh--buh, uh--d-did I?"

"Who is this Arwen, Eragon?"

"Well, I--"

"Who is she?!"

"I don't--"

"WHO?!"

_TSSEW!_

A blast of magical power, and the door suddenly flew off its hinges. The others screamed and dodged just in time for Eragon (thankfully wrapped in a sheet) to come flying out of the room, smack into a wall and crumble amongst broken stone, popcorn and bed pieces. A moment later Arya came out of the room, a bathrobe hastily thrown on, and she stormed away, not stopping to notice any of the people who had been eavesdropping moments before.

Immediately as she was out of earshot, Murtagh burst out laughing. "That was even better than I thought!" he cried, falling onto the floor and giggling with joy.

Heh-heh, it sure was. Anyway, tune in _next_ time and we'll see what _Murtagh's_ first time was like! Now _that_ was a hoot, let me tell you!

"Ha ha--wait, what?" The color drained from his face. "You're not serious, are you?"

Heh-heh. Just wait and see.

"No, please, I'll do anything--"

See you then!

The end.

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...No, not really. Sorry, insane fangirls. :-(

Generally I have been trying to make recent chapters a little "cleaner," but I couldn't pass up the chance to write this. :-) Anyway, will update again soon...ish. See you then!


	18. Earl's Story

Hey to all my readers! Sorry it took me so long to update, I've been busy with other things, namely other fanfictions and the dreaded return to classes. But I now have a story! Good for me. It's pretty short, but I hope it works; I was originally planning for another long, rambling pile of random nonsense, but decided to go slightly more logically instead. Hope you enjoy, and of course, please read and review. This fic is almost up to 8,000 hits!

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Chapter Eighteen  
Earl's Story

Okay, so I know what you're going to say. But I swear, it wasn't my fault this time, Your Majesty. You can even ask Krash! Well...once he's able to talk again. But don't worry, I'm sure he'll be out of the infirmary soon...though it still might be a while before his beak heals enough...

Anyway. See, we were really close to getting the Rider and his dragon this time. Really really close! See, he and his team were camped down in this little valley, with some hills all around them, and...what? No, no, I'm getting to that part.

Well, see. So there we were, on top of one of the hills, and we could see their camp at the bottom of the valley. And so we were talking about how we were gonna try to get them, 'cause you know, the dragon is pretty big now. Krash wanted to poison it, but we don't really have anything other than the Seithr oil, and that only works on human skin anyway so how are we gonna use it on the dragon? Especially because you said you didn't want us to hurt it. Which, you know, is hard, since the dragon doesn't seem to like us very much, how are we supposed to get it without getting into a fight? So I said, maybe we should get the dragon drunk or something? And then we could just kind of take it away without it really waking up to realize it. Then Krash hit me. It hurt. But then he said it actually was a pretty good idea and I wasn't as stupid as I look. That was pretty nice to him. He's an okay big brother sometimes.

So, we sneaked down into their camp. The Dragon Rider had made this big hole, see, and then he used magic to make water come out of it, from out of the ground. Which is pretty cool, I have to say. I told Krash how cool it was and he hit me again. That one hurt even more than the first time. See, I still have the bump here, it's still kind of tender--

OW! Hey! _That_ hurt too!

Oh...okay. Moving on. Um, so we went down there, and so--we didn't have any beer or anything, you know, we weren't drinking in the job, I swear. Also alcohol horribly burns and maims our skin, I'm not sure if you knew that. That's, uh...how Krash got those burn marks. No, no, mine came later. Yeah, I'll get to that. But anyway, the humans and dwarves had some beer, so we waited until they were asleep and we went for that. We dumped all the beer and stuff into the water, and then we waited. We knew eventually the dragon would have to come and take a drink.

Which, you know, how does that work, really? I mean, the dragon breathes _fire_; shouldn't she, like, not drink or something? How does that affect her fire-breathing? If she has a big drink of water and then needs to breathe fire right away, is she, like, not able to for a while? Or maybe dragons need to drink _more_ because of the fire-breathing, you know, their throats get all dry and burned so they would probably drink a lot to compensate--

_OW!_ Okay, okay, getting back on topic!

So, um...yeah. Where was I? No, stop, I'm getting back, I swear! Um...okay, we had just poured all the booze into the little pond the Rider had made. And then we waited until the dragon came. And she did! Yeah, she came about an hour later, to get a sip of water. I don't think she tasted the wine and beer and stuff, or maybe she just didn't care. She was happy, though, singing show tunes and stuff. Anyway, uh...we were waiting for her to pass out, but that...didn't happen. Apparently there wasn't enough booze to make her faint or anything, because she drank it all and she just wound up, ah...really drunk.

...And she's a mean drunk.

So, anyway, my head was on fire, and that was kind of distracting and stuff, and then Krash was fighting her, he was using all this cool dark magic and stuff, but she, uh...ahem--you know, she was probably already feeling a little nauseous, and all that activity...she threw up all over him. And she still had a lot of alcohol in her system. Yeah, those are where the burns came from.

Anyway, I realized there was one bottle of wine left we had forgotten to pour out, and I tried to use it to put out the fire on my head, and that, uh...didn't work out well. And by this time the Rider and all his friends had woken up, and they weren't happy. 'Cause we were trying to steal his dragon, ya know? So they attacked us.

...Magic? Uh...no. Actually, they just kind of...hit us with sticks until we ran away.

...

I'm guessing now's not a good time to ask you for a raise?

_OW!_


	19. The Gayest Chapter Yet

I update! Finally. I post this chapter a bit reluctantly, since I'm trying to go for less obscenity in this story...but eugh. I've been planning it forever, so I feel the need to use it. Hope you enjoy it (but not _too_ much, because then I've overdone the obscenity. Ya know?) and please leave reviews.

Also, a note: since this is probably the last update I'll do before _Brisingr_ comes out, I just want to point out that I am not planning to buy it immediately. My plan is just to wait for that big fat guy in the red suit to bring it so I don't have to pay. Anyway, what this means is, just so you know, there will be no _Brisingr_-related chapters immediately, and, likely, not at all. At least in _this_ fic...but I have other _Inheritance_ parodies planned. :-D

Also, no one better give spoilers in the reviews. Though saying that I probably doomed it to happen.

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Chapter Nineteen  
The Gayest Chapter Yet

When we last left Eragon's evil clone Hairisgone, way back in Chapter 7 when my writing was really bad and I overused coarse sexual humor even more than I do now, he was going to Dras-Leona with Solumbum, where the two proceeded to get completely wasted.

"Bartender!" Hairisgone cried, raising a hand; he was slumped over on the bar, his bald head still shining brightly even in the dim light. "Bring-sh me another beer."

The bartender frowned. "Sorry, sir. I think you've had enough."

"_I'll freakin' tell you when I've had enough! BRISHINGR!"_

The shelves behind the bartender exploded in a blast of flames. "Agh! Alright, alright!" he cried, rushing over to put them out and get Hairisgone a refill.

Solumbum, who was curled up on the stool beside the bald villain, not quite as drunk, lapped up a few more tonguefuls of beer as Hairisgone guzzled down his latest mug. "You know, I think you may have a problem."

"Aghsh. You don't know me, man--cat--thingy," Hairisgone slurred, sitting up in his stool again. Suddenly he looked like he was about to cry. "My life is hard, man, you don't even know..."

"Oh, come on. How hard can it be?" He paused, cocking his head to one side. "For that matter, how _long_ can it have been? I think you're only like, a week old in this story's chronology..."

"You don't even know," Hairisgone repeated. "You're an actual canon character. I'm jusht some crummy oh-she invented by some hack with an Internet conneshion. And I don't even have any original pershonality. I'm jusht Eragon in reverse." He took another swig of beer. "He'sh good, so I'm evil. He'sh working for the Varden, sho I work for Galbi--Galbo--Gala--Galactix or whatever hish name ish. He hash great hair, and I..." He motioned up to his head miserably.

Solumbum grinned. "He has a thing for elf chicks. If you're his opposite, does that mean you have a thing for elf _guys?_"

"Me, gay! HA!" Hairisgone cried, startling a few people down the bar. "I wish. If I was gay...that would be the life."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Think about it. Gay guysh...they have _great _hair. They're all good looking and popular...they get all the babesh," he said, slumping back down again.

Solumbum raised an eyebrow, but decided logic was not the best tactic to use on his drunken companion, especially when he saw a new opportunity for amusement in the air. "Well, then, maybe you should do that."

"What?"

"Become gay."

"Huh?"

"Yeah. If you were gay, you'd have all of that--the looks, the babes...the _hair._"

"The hair?" Hairisgone said slowly, gently touching his bald head. "You--you mean it?"

"You bet," Solumbum said with a decisive nod. "So, whudda say?"

"Gah!" Hairisgone gave a sudden dismissive wave of his hand. "What'sh the point? It won't work. You can't acshually jusht _make _yourshelf gay."

"True," Solumbum conceded. "But then again, cats can't _actually_ talk, can they?"

Hairisgone lowered his mug and stared blankly in front of him for a moment, absorbing the utter brilliance of that statement. "You make a pershuashive arguement, Mr. Kitty," he said finally, head bobbing. He rose from his stool, swaying as he stood. "Alright, then. Let'sh go."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Outside on the street, they began their mission.

"Welcome, welcome, to Solumbum's School of Sex in the Bum," the cat said, as Hairisgone stood on the cold Dras-Leonan street, tottering and blinking blearily. "You are here today to learn how to be gay, and I'm here to help you."

"What do you know about being gay?"

"I'm a cat," Solumbum said simply, as if this made some sort of sense Hairisgone was simply too drunk to understand. "Now, I have a long and complex plan in order to gay you up. Step one--have sex with another man."

"Ugh--you make it shound sho eashy," Hairisgone muttered.

"Oh, it is, trust me. Hey, look! There's a man coming down the street right now! You give him the old man-eater charm while I hide safely beneath this anachronistic Dumpster!"

And, giggling evilly, he ran behind the aforementioned anachronistic Dumpster to watch the show.

The Imperial Guard coming up the street was a large, intimidating man, all muscle, with black hair and a dark, evil little goatee. He was walking along the street tossing a piece of gold into the air and catching it, thinking about horrible and nasty things because he was a member of the Ebul Empire and was thus teh uber ebul, with plans like taxing farmers and fighting against people trying to overthrow the government and all sorts of other unbelievably wicked things.

It was this horrible person that Hairisgone staggered over to, nearly falling but catching himself on the startled man's shoulders.

"Hi there!" Hairisgone said brightly, slapping the man on the back and looking up into his face with dazed, unfocused eyes. "Hey, you look like the kind of guy whoshe into gay shex. Would you like to--"

POW!

"Agh!"

Solumbum burst out laughing as the soldier stormed away, and Hairisgone struggled to stand up, holding his bloody nose.

"That didn't work!"

"No--no it didn't," Solumbum said, wiping a tear from his eye with one paw. (...Can cats cry? If they can't, could werecats? Eh, who cares.) "I'm--I'm so sorry, I was so--hee--so sure that would work."

"Well, _now_ what do I do, then?"

"Hey, look! A slaver walking down the street! Maybe _he's_ itching for some gay sex!"

"Hey, yeah!"

Strangely, he was not; neither was the nobleman or his bodyguards, the knife-wielding mugger, or the two Helgrindist priests who Solumbum was _sure _were a couple looking to swing. By the end of the hour Hairisgone had been knocked down, punched, head-butted, kicked and stabbed so many times that he had more dried blood and bruises than visible skin, and at this point Solumbum realized he was starting to see through this ruse.

"I don't think--ugh--I don't think you know freakin' _anything _about how to pick up guys," Hairisgone grumbled, tottering on the spot; all the blood loss had done little to make him more undisoriented.

"Wait...that isn't a word, is it?" Hairisgone asked, swaying again. "Oh...I'm gonna faint..."

Solumbum looked offended. "Well! I'll have you know that I am an _expert_ at picking up men. I guess you're just not hot enough!"

"I'm plenty hot! Do you know--ugh--how many fangirls Edward Shpeeler hash?"

"Who?"

"The guy in the _Eragon_ movie!"

"Oh. Probably not very many, that movie was a total bomb."

"_Auuuggghhh! _Well, shcrew you, kitty cat! I'm--ugh--I'm gonna go...and find...my own way to gay shex shomeone. And you can jusht...go and...and shcrew yourshelf or...shomethin'."

He staggered away, leaving Solumbum to giggle in the deserted street. As he went he tried to pick up men, but to no avail--he had to admit, he had no idea better than Solumbum's plan to walk up to strange men and proposition himself, and though Hairisgone was not picking out men who were _specifically_ likely to try to kill him, he did get quite a few new injuries.

Not long later he was sitting down on ye olde sidewalk, face in his hands, crying. "Oh...all I want ish shome hair," he moaned, many single tears leaking through his fingers.

"Me too," came someone's voice from beside him.

"And me," came another voice.

Hairisgone looked up through bleary eyes. Had he sat down next to somebody? He was so dizzy from blood loss he hadn't been able to tell...

Hairisgone wasn't exactly sure what happened next...there was a bleary face in front of him, and they spoke to each other, though he wouldn't later be able to remember exactly what had been said...he was so dizzy there seemed to be two faces, two voices...and then the two or three people all got up and stumbled down the street towards a motel...

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hairisgone woke up the next morning with a splitting headache. He blinked and rolled over in bed. "_Ugh..._what happened last night?"

He felt somebody else in the bed. He blinked and opened his eyes.

The Twin next to him opened his eyes too.

The two screamed. The second Twin, over on Hairisgone's other side, screamed too.

And all three of them were still bald.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The next day...

"There. Sex with a woman. That proves I'm not gay, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," the Blond Elf Chick With the Dragon Tattoo muttered. "Now just give me my gold, I've got an appointment in an hour to 'straighten out' the Twins too."


	20. Dead or Alive?

Chapter Twenty  
Dead or Alive?

"Oh man oh man oh man oh man oh man..."

Eragon paced frantically, biting his nails. Arya sighed loudly, surveying him over the top of her magazine.

"Oh, Eragon, would you please stop pacing? You're making _me_ nervous."

"But I can't help it, Arya!" he whined, flopping down on the couch, leg bouncing nervously. "_Brisingr_'s been out for more than a week, and we still don't have a copy! Come on, _please_ just lend me the money to--"

"_NO!_ I am not wasting my money on that gigantic hardcover just so you can read it now. I'll wait for it in paperback. Or maybe buy it for you for Christmas or something..."

She turned the page of her magazine carelessly. Eragon stared at her.

"How can you be so blase?!"

"Ooh, that's French. What's it mean?"

"I don't know, I don't speak French. But the point is, you're it! I mean, we don't have _any _idea of what's happening to us right now! We could be being attacked by Ra'zac or fighting a huge battle or--we could be dead! Think about that Arya! We could be _dead_ right now and _not even know it!_"

He slapped himself in the chest as if to see if he was solid or not. He jumped back off the couch and began to pace furiously again. Arya sighed.

"Eragon, we are not dead. If we were dead we'd know it. And besides, neither of us can get killed off." She flipped a page again. "You're the main character. I'm your main love interest. There's a fourth book coming out in a few years. Character shield. Et cetera and so forth."

"Well...okay. But what about all our friends, huh?! What about--Murtagh or Nasuada, Angela or Solumbum or Joed or Saphira? Well, okay, probably not her--I think if she dies I die too or go insane or something, but--what about Trianna or Orik or any of the other secondary characters? _They _could all be dead!"

"Eh, screw them. They can burn in Helgrind for all I care," Arya said, flipping another page.

Eragon stared. Arya looked up at him. "What? You knew I was a heartless bitch when we started going out," she said, returning to her magazine.

Eragon blinked. "We're going out?" Pause. "Did _that_ happen in _Brisingr_?"

"I don't know. We are in this one-shot, though--this story doesn't bother following canon too closely."

Eragon considered this, sitting calmly down on the couch again. He grinned. "Maybe we _are _going out," he said, grinning. Another pause. "You know, Paolini said someone was going to wind up pregnant--"

"Yes, and if it's me, I'll hunt him down and rip out his still-beating heart with my teeth. Now, drop it or I'll show you _definitively_ whether you're alive or not."

"Yes ma'am."

Arya smirked and returned to her magazine.

* * *

Please do not tell me if any of these predictions are right. I don't want to know.

The hit and review counts for this story are really high...help me reach the milestones, guys! And I hope you enjoyed this short little thing, thanks as always for reading!


	21. CELEBRATION!

Chapter Twenty-One  
CELEBRATION!

(The scene opens to a large, fancy ballroom with an empty stage. All around the table, the characters from _The Inheritance Cycle_/this story are seated, dressed to kill, talking amongst themselves and eating fancy foods. Dragons are curled up beside tables, monsters are eating from dog food bowls, and fancy waiters move about waiter-ing.)

(Joed's Butler, one of the waiters, stands beside Krashnaranthar and Earl's table. The Ra'zac are dressed in their finest dark scary robes.)

Joed's Inexplicably-Now-French Butler: And what would _monsieurs_ like to eat tonight?

Krashnaranthar: (folding up menu and pointing) I'll have that ssshhhort female in the back.

Earl: And I'll just have a plate of your finest granite, please.

Krashnaranthar: (rolling eyes) Ugh...

(Lights dim; spotlight and smoke effects begin on stage.)

Earl: Ooh! It's starting!

Announcer: Villains and heroes, canon and OCs, we welcome you tonight to our celebration of this most historic event. And now, here he is...the man of the hour...the one we've all been waiting for--the amazing, illustrious JOEMERL!

(_Star Wars_ _"_Imperial March" plays; JoeMerl walks in from backstage to raucous applause.)

Earl: (shaking fist in the air) WHOO-HOO! YEAH! YOU ROCK, JOEMERL! Speaking of which, when's dinner gonna get here...

(Cries of "Yeah!," "Go JoeMerl!" and "My life is utterly meaningless compared to your insurmountable greatness!" echo throughout the room. JoeMerl raises his hands for silence. The room slowly quiets; tension hangs in the air.)

JoeMerl: Stupid characters and loyal reading-slaves, I come before you tonight for a most momentous occasion. We are gathered here, as you may know, to celebrate two incredible events that have occurred in recent days: that this story now has **_100 reviews,_** and now has more than **_10,000 hits!_**

(Huge applause.)

Eragon: WHOO!

Orik: (raising large thing of beer) YEAH!

Murtagh: I'd have sex with that guy!

JoeMerl: Thank you, thank you...except you Murtagh, that was just kind of creepy. Let me just say how proud and happy I am to have received this great honor from you, my readers. For this truly is a great reward to know how much you have enjoyed my work. It's also kind of sad, since this story is nothing but crude sex jokes and random, nonsensical gibberish...I mean, I have a serious story that's almost twice as long and has less than a fifth as many hits...but ah well.

So thank you, thank you all, my loyal readers. And you, my characters, who have had to undergo so much crap for their amusement. But this is not just a time for patting ourselves on the back; for you see, the popularity of this story is also a sign of our great responsibility. With so many readers hanging on what we do, we must be a good influence for the _Inheritance Cycle _fandom community. So, in the spirit of thanks and gratitude, may we all come together, joining as one, and...

...

**_Every-body dance now!_**

(Room brightens; smoke effects spread out all over the floor as a disco ball descends from the ceiling, sending neon lights everywhere. The tables all disappear with a _POP! _and everybody is suddenly standing up and dancing with each other.)

Arya: (dancing with Eragon) Okay, at this point, this story is officially a crackfic.

Eragon: And how!

(JoeMerl continues to address the throngs of dancing characters.)

JoeMerl: And that's not all! We now have a very special guest to introduce! Let's all hear it for...**_LIGHTCULLEN618!_**

(Dancing characters cheer as Lightcullen618 comes running and jumping joyously onstage.)

Lightcullen618: WHOO! YEAH!

(Lightcullen618 dances as JoeMerl grabs her hand, shaking it wildly.)

JoeMerl: _HOW'S IT FEEL TO BE HERE, LIGHTCULLEN?!_

Lightcullen618: I feel good, JoeMerl!

JoeMerl: Well, you're about to feel even better, my friend, 'cause you got the honor of being my **_100th review for this story!_**

Lightcullen618: _WHOO! _YEAH! Did I win something?!

JoeMerl: Why, yes you did, Lightcullen! As prize for being my **_100th review,_** you won a chance to **_fight in a no-holds battle to the death with twelve bloodthirsty Lethrblaka!_**

Lightcullen618: WHOO! YEAH! I--wait, whosa-jigga-_what_-now?

JoeMerl: YEAH!

(Takes out a remote control with a single large red button on it. JoeMerl slams down on it, and a trapdoor under Lightcullen618 suddenly opens.)

Lightcullen618: _Aaaaaaaggggggghhhhhhh!_

(Lightcullen618 falls; she lands in a dimly-lit chamber.)

Lightcullen618: (rising to her feet) Huh...what the...

(Looks up; twelve Lethrblaka are flying in the air above her.)

Lightcullen618: Meep.

(Cuts back to auditorium; distant screams can be heard over the disco music.)

JoeMerl: So everybody keep having fun, 'cause we're gonna keep this party going all night! And the first person to review this chapter will get--something! I don't know what. A cameo or a story request, their pick. How's that sound?!

Murtagh: Like it's going to lead to extreme annoyance or pain for us!

JoeMerl: EXACTLY!

(Lightcullen618 crawls across the stage, bloody and with torn clothes.)

Lightcullen618: Oooh...

JoeMerl: (surprised) Lightcullen618! You survived?

Lightcullen618: (coughs) Barely...

JoeMerl: THAT'S GREAT! Because as a prize for barely surviving, you get to **_marry Murtagh right now on national television!_**

Murtagh: (stops dancing with Nasuada, eyes wide) Wait, what?!

Nasuada: _What_ that white boy say?!

JoeMerl: (pointing dramatically) _Robotic arms, deploy!_

(Robotic arms fly down from ceiling and grab Lightcullen618, Murtagh and Brom. There is a whirl of movement, and a few seconds later all three are onstage, Murtagh in a tux, Lightcullen618 in a pristine white wedding dress and Brom dressed as a minister.)

Murtagh: What the fu--

Brom: Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this fangirl together, against the groom's consent. Do you, Lightcullen618, take this fictional character to be your lawfully wedded husband?

Nasuada: (storming the stage) Oh _NO SHE DON'T!_

Lightcullen618: (taking karate poise) Bring it, bitch!

(Huge fight begins; JoeMerl cackles evilly.)

JoeMerl: Dance, my puppets, dance!

(In the audience, Earl, who is dancing with...I don't know, Katrina, leans over to Krashnaranthar, who is dancing--against his will, because _I control all!_--with Angela.)

Earl: I can't wait to see what happens if JoeMerl gets **_200 reviews _**and **_20,000 hits!_**

Krashnaranthar: Hopefully he'll kill me off by then...

(Scene fades out as the battle and dancing continues..._MWA-HA-HA-HA-HA!)_


	22. Crossover of DOOM!

Okay, I'm sure lots of readers will not understand what this is about, but from looking at reviewers' profiles I know at least some people will. If you don't, just enjoy the randomness and utter absurdity of the tale. If you _do_ know what it's about, go to my profile and look up my stories in that fandom. Go! _DO IT NOW!_

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two  
Crossover of DOOM!

We join Eragon, Saphira, Arya and Orik wandering once again through Alagaesia, deep in conversation trying to figure out where in canon this story might be taking place.

"I'm just saying, a bunch of chapters begin with the four of us wandering around, but I don't think that ever happened at any point in the series."

"Maybe this at the beginning of _Eldest _and we're traveling north to Du Weldenwarden?"

"No, because there were a bunch of other dwarves with us that time, remember?" Arya said.

"I remember," Saphira said, licking her lips. "Plump, juicy little things, they were!"

"Oh, does _that_explain why Thrgngrkin disappeared halfway through that trip?" Orik asked, eyeing her darkly.

"Huh." Eragon thought. "So, maybe this is when we're traveling south _from _Du Weldenwarden for the Battle of the Burning Plains?"

"But _I _wasn't with you then," Arya said.

"And we were flying most of the time," Orik added.

"Well, we can't be somewhere in _Eragon,_ because she was knocked out the whole time and I hadn't even met you until all the wandering was done!"

"Maybe we're in _Brisingr._"

"But I still haven't read _Brisingr!_ We better not be in _Brisingr,_ because if we run into a spoiler I'm _really_ gonna be pissed."

Just then, this fatuous conversation was interrupted as a huge glowing hole in the fabric of space-time ripped open beside them, creating a dazzling vortex of bluish-green light.

"By Guntera's beard! What's that dazzling vortex of bluish-green light?!"

"It's a huge glowing hole in the fabric of space-time that's ripped open beside us!" Arya cried.

Hey, I just said that. Don't you people...ah, never mind.

Squinting his eyes, Eragon peered into the bright light and saw some dark shape moving within it. He could also hear some strange noise, unintelligible words that seemed to be repeated as some sort of chant. A spell? he wondered. Or some spirit, coming through the portal from some other world or something, if that's how it worked. He wasn't sure, didn't he read that they explain spirits in _Brisingr?_ Damn it, he should have just bought it the day it came out...

Suddenly the dark shape burst out of the glowing hole, blasting through the air like a cork from a bottle. "DOOM! DOOMY-DOOMY-DOOM, DA-DOOM--WHOO!"

"AGH!"

The thing hit Eragon with enough force to knock him to the ground--he fell back, his head smashing on the rocks. Above him the glowing portal closed, and when he looked up, dazed, head spinning, all he could see were his friends gazing down at him in shock, and a small little creature sitting on his chest.

It smiled and waved at him. "_Hiiiiii._"

"Whuh...?"

He sat up--the thing let out a small cry and fell onto the ground. It shook its head and stood, head cocked to one side.

"Was is that?" Eragon wondered, gazing down at the creature.

"It's a...dog?" Arya asked, raising her eyebrow.

"Ooh!" Saphira said, licking her lips and bringing her face in. She sniffed--the amount of suction brought the creature from the ground and jammed it into her nostril. It began to giggling insanely. Saphira stopped inhaling and let it fall back into a sitting position on the rocks. "It doesn't _smell_ like a dog..."

But that's what it was--or at least, it was the closest thing Eragon could guess to what it might be. The thing stood up again, on its hind legs, which seemed to possess no feet, and cocked its head again, gazing at them. It looked vaguely canine, but aside from its ability to stand and utter lack of paws, its chest and head were a very un-dog-like shade of lime green and it didn't seem to have any sort of tail. As it moved its tongue wagged limply through the air; it didn't seem to be able to bring it back into its mouth.

"Maybe it's some sort of spirit-monster?" Eragon asked skeptically, looking up at his friends as he climbed shakily to his feet.

"Or some strange new life-form of the Boer Mountains?"

"Are we in the Boer Mountains?"

"Oh, Helgrind if I know. We're wherever the author wants us to be at any particular moment."

"What are you, little creature?" Orik said, giving the dog-thing a suspicious look. "Are you a dog?"

"What? No, I's a roh..." It paused. "Uh...yeeeaaahhh. I's a dog. Just a normal little Earth-dog. MOO!" he cried suddenly, waving its nubby paws wildly at its side.

The others exchanged a look. "Um..." Arya said slowly, "how did you--uh, how did you get here, little...dog?"

"I PRESSED DA BUTTON!" the dog-thing screamed, causing the others to jump back in surprise. "It was sittin' there, on Mastah's workbench, and Mastah said--he said, 'don't you touch the button,' but it _called_ to me, see, and it was all shiny, and so I touched it and then everything went WHOOP! _I LIKE CUPCAKES!_" it added insanely, as one suddenly and inexplicably few out of its head--the green dog caught it in its nubby arms (somehow) and began to devour the thing wildly, smearing chocolate all over its face.

"Okay, this is weird," Eragon muttered.

"Seriously," Arya said. "And that dog should not be eating chocolate. It's very unhealthy."

"_Cupcake all gone now!_" it cried, throwing the wrapper away--its green face was covered with crumbs. "Now I wants a taco. You!" He pointed at Eragon. "You gots a taco for me?"

"What? What's a taco?"

"It's a nummy!"

"Well, I don't have any."

"Don't...have none?" The little dog's eyes were suddenly swimming with tears. It sat down on the ground morosely. Eragon felt his heart break.

"Oh." He bent down a bit closer to the dog. "I'm sorry, little--"

"You gots one in your head?!"

"What?!"

"GIVE IT TO ME!"

"But I don't--whah!"

The dog leapt forward and wrapped its arms and legs around Eragon's head, struggling vainly to unhinge it by whatever secret hidden compartment it was sure to possess. Eragon fell to the ground, trying desperately to pry the creature off with his super-uber-speshul Dragon Rider strength, but the little dog was so strong it was like it was made of steel! Wrapped in cloth. ...Or something.

"No need for hints, if they're going to figure it out they'd have done it by now!" Arya grunted, trying with Orik to pry the little dog from Eragon's head.

"GIMME YO' TACOS!"

"I don't have any! Get off!"

"TACOS!"

"_STOP!_"

The little dog-thing froze and turned. So did the others.

Another glowing portal had appeared, and a new shape was now jumping out of it, this one almost as odd-looking as the little dog wrapped around Eragon's head. It was a young boy, maybe twelve or so based on his height, but with green skin, darker than the dog's lime fur, and wearing what was obviously a black toupee, as he adjusted its position even as he hopped into their world. He was wearing a long red shirt that looked almost like a dress, black pants, and a horrible girn.

He growled (or at least said something that sounded a lot like "GRRR!") and pointed to the ground. "Get over here!"

The little dog calmly leaped down from Eragon's head and trotted over to the green boy. "Yeah, Mastah?"

"What did I tell you about using the Interdimensional Transportation Device?!"

"But it _called _to me and--oof!"

The boy picked up the dog by the ears and lifted it off the ground. This would have been animal abuse, except that the dog laughed and let out a "WHOO!" sound as it swung through the air, and the boy turned to glare down at Eragon and his friends.

"You saw nothing of this! NOTHING!"

"But--what--" Eragon rubbed his head, still hopelessly confused.

"Who are you?" Arya demanded, crossing her arms.

"I am no one! I am just a normal, pitiful little Earth-smeet! Now SILENCE, pitiful hyuman!"

"Hey! I'm not a hyuman--human!" Arya corrected, looking affronted.

The green boy didn't seem to hear her, though. He turned back to the portal and threw the dog in. It let out a cry of joy as it went soaring into the air and vanished. The boy then turned back to the others.

"You wish to know who I am? WELL, DO YOU?! I shall tell you, pitiful Earth-worms, for one day this world, too, shall know me, when I am finished with the Earth and come here to conquer!"

He turned back to the portal, raising one fist into the air. Then he leapt in, shouting, "I AM Z--"

But whatever he was, they didn't hear--he vanished into the light before the word was fully out, and a moment later the portal closed.

The four _Inheritance _characters were left staring at the empty space for a moment, dazed. "Well, that was weird," Saphira muttered.

"Totally," Arya agreed, turning to begin walking again.

"You said it," Orik said, following behind her and Saphira.

Eragon, however, sighed as he lifted himself off the ground. "I miss that show," he muttered, dragging himself slowly behind the others.

* * *

I'm with you, Er my man.


	23. The Way They Might Do It, Part III

Hey! Sorry it's been a while, I've been very busy with other fics, and also I'm trying to debate what to do in this one---I seem to have more story ideas than there are chapters left! I'll work it out, though, don't worry.

It was kind of fun to read last chapter's reviews...for those who don't know, it was with a show called _Invader Zim,_ a (tragically) short-lived Nickelodeon cartoon about an insane alien named Zim who tries to take over the Earth with his idiotic robot sidekick, GIR. Zim typically disguises himself as a human kid, but his costume doesn't even hide his green skin; GIR passes as his "dog." (Feel free to look up pictures if you're interested.) Anyway, most of my fanfiction stuff is actually from that show, so I just decided to do a funny little crossover. Might do it again sometime, in fact...maybe with Dib, Gaz and Tak, those are some of my favorite characters...anyway, new chapter, and we're ten chapters away from the end to this fic. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three  
The Way They Might Do It, Part III

"Oh..."

"Oh...oh, Eragon..."

"Oh...Arya...oh...grr, how do I unhook this thing?"

"Oh, let me..."

"Ah...there we go. Hee-hee."

"Don't giggle. It ruins the mood."

"Sorry."

"_Mmm..._oh, yeah..."

_Zip._

"Huh. Eragon, how can there be a zipping sound when it's centuries before the zipper is invented---oh---if even in this universe?"

"Oh, who cares?! _Mmm..._"

"Oh..."

"Oh, Arya...after waiting so long for this, I'm so glad that we're _finally_...we're finally..."

...

"Eragon? Darling, what's wrong?"

"...What is that?"

"What?"

"_That._"

"Uh---m-my _kalfyalam_?"

...

"...What's a _kalfyalam_?"

"Um...I'm sorry, I know I'm your first and all, but I don't have to give you 'the talk' here, do I?"

"No, no, I've had that...but uh...Uncle Garrow never mentioned _that._"

"...Was he gay or something?"

"...No. I---I mean---what _is_ that?! I've seen Oromis naked...er, a couple of times...and he's _never_ had one of those!"

"Well, he's a man, isn't he?"

"Yeah...yeah, but see, I don't think women are supposed to one of _those _either."

"Ugh---_all_ elfin women have one of those, you immature jerk! And I like to think that mine is actually a little better than most! Now, are you gonna _finkla_ my _kalfyalam_ or not?!"

"...Maybe, just give me a minute."

"_Ugh!_"

...

"I mean, is it _supposed _to be glowing like that?! Is it radioactive?!"

"Good_bye,_ Eragon."

* * *

More eerie vulgarity from your supposedly-clean, wholesome, family-friendly writer. And the author's notes here make up almost half the word count. Anyway, please review!


	24. The Answer to Chapter Fifteen

Hey everyone! Sorry if this update is about...two months late. Heh-heh. Sorry. :-( But anyway, there's a new chapter now! Credit goes to x-DragonSoul-x, who helped to inspire this chapter via review. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four  
The Answer to Chapter Fifteen

"Enter."

The doors opened, and Krashnaranthar and Earl swept into the dark throne room to fall kneeling before the throne of King Galbatorix. He stared down at them, eyes cold from beneath his hood. Because he was wearing a hood. Remember, he's all hooded and mysterious and everything? I just wanted to remind you of that because it's totally going to be important later. I don't know or care if he was in _Brisingr_ looking different, this is how he looks here. Oh, by the way I actually got _Brisingr_ for Christmas, but I haven't gotten around to reading it---

"Um, hello?" Galbatorix said, glaring up at the ceiling. "Are you going to get back to the _story_ anytime soon?"

Oh, sorry. Yeah. Anyway, Galbatorix was staring down at them, and it was totally dramatic and scary and stuff, and he said, in his totally dramatic and scary voice, "What news have ye to report to me, my fell Ra'zac servants?"

"We have much to report, my liege," Krashnaranthar hissed, turning to his brother. "Earl, tell Hissss Majesssty what we have dissscovered."

Earl opened his mouth to speak---and threw up on the throne room floor.

"Wha---"

Krashnaranthar jumped back, pulling up his robe to keep from it being soiled; Galbatorix looked surprised (...not that his face could be seen), drawing back on his throne. "_Ugh!_What the fu---"

"_BLEEEH! _Sorry, boss," Earl moaned, wiping his mouth. "I haven't been feeling too goo---_BLEEH!_"

"Ugh!" The King waved them away. "You're ruining my throne room! Get out of here! And send in Consuela on your way out," he added, making a face. Not that anyone could see it.

After exiting the throne room and sending in the maid, Krashnaranthar smacked Earl on the back of the head. "Sssstupid hatchling!" he ssssnapped---er, I mean snapped. "What issss wrong with you?"

"I'm sorry, Krash. I've just been feeling really sick lately," he muttered, rubbing his abdomen.

"Grrr..."

Krash was still upset at Earl for ruining their conversation with the King, and destroying the totally dramatic feel of the meeting. Oh, speaking of things being "totally dramatic," does anybody here watch _Total Drama Island? _I really like that show, at first I thought it was going to be stupid but it turned out it's really good. I've been kind of obsessed with writing fanfiction for that lately, I really wish they were showing new episodes in America but I have to wait until summer---

"HEY! COULD YOU _PLEASSSSSE_ GET BACK TO _OUR _SSSTORY SSSOMETIME SSSOON?!"

Oh...heh-heh, sorry. Anyway. They exited the palace and climbed onto their parents for the ride back to Helgrind. Which was not fun for Earl, who sat there the whole time, moaning and holding his stomach. As soon as they landed he jumped off of his mom, fell to the cliff and began to puke.

"Aw...what'sssss wrong, honey?" Hathasanisag asked, rubbing her vomiting son on the back with one wing.

"Ugh...I don't know, Mommy," he moaned, wiping his mouth and laying his head on her wing like a hatchling. "I've just been feeling all sickish lately."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. And fat," he added, shifting uncomfortably in his too-small robe. "Bloaty. Plus I'm late."

Hathasanisag and Saronasigan's many eyes widened. Krashnaranthar, however, just looked confused (which was a rather unusual sight, incidentally). "Late for what?"

"Um...Krassshhhnaranthar, darling, could you pleasssse go insssside for a moment? Go, um...make up Earl'sssss nessst for him, or ssssomething."

"Alright..."

And he slipped inside the cave, giving the three a weird look.

"Oh, Helgrind, I can't believe thissss issss happening," Saronasigan muttered, covering his face with his wing.

"What, Dad?"

"Um..." Hathasanisag looked nervous. "You sssssee, Earl, there'ssss ssssomething we need to talk to you about. Um..."

She looked to her mate for support, but he refused to look up. Turning back to Earl, she continued, "You ssssee, when you were hatched, we might have...made a little missstake."

"What kind of a misssss---I mean, mistake?"

"Well---_ahem_---like your gender, for inssstanccce."

Earl blinked. "...Huh?"

"Well, sssson---or not," Saronasigan added awkwardly, "when your brother wassss hatched, we saw that he wassss a male. Sssso we figured, you know, you'd probably be one too."

"Sssso we assssumed that without checking," Hathasanisag said, as though this was quite normal.

For the first time in his life, Earl thought he understood what they were talking about. And he didn't like it. "Wh---what do you mean?!"

"Oh, Earl," Hathasanisag said, patting him lightly on the back. "You mussssn't worry. Thissss is sssssomething that all young femalessss who grew up thinking they were male have to go through at ssssome point in their livesss. Parthenogenessssissss is a perfectly normal procccesss for our speccciessss."

"Parthenogenesis? What does that mean?!"

"Well..."

The scream that burst out a moment later was heard all the way to Teirm.

-------------------------------------------

"Earl...ina," Krashnaranthar muttered as his brother---er, sister---lay crying on his---her---nest. "Quit crying."

"Why, Krash?!" Earl screamed, throwing back her head and looking distraught. "I can't take care of an egg! What am I supposed to do?!"

"Oh, you're not going to have to do anything," Krash muttered, rolling his eyes. "You're not actually going to _lay_ the damn thing."

Earl blinked back tears. "I'm...not?"

"No! The author of this fanfiction doesssn't actually want to make you into a girl! The nexxxt time we ssshhow up in thisss ssstupid story, you'll be a male again and they'll be no egg to take care of. It'ssss not like JoeMerl actually caresss about internal continuity."

She wiped her eyes. "...Really? You promise?"

"Of courssse."

Earl grinned, then suddenly hugged him. "Thanks, Krash!" she cried, as he hissed in annoyance, wishing he were male again so he could slap him---her---whatever. She let him go. "Well, I guess I'll go take advantage of my temporary womanhood while I can, then! I have some lesbian fantasies to fulfil!"

And without another word he ran off to Du Weldenwarden to find a certain slutty blonde elf.


	25. Four More Wishes

**Warning: **Not to be read by people allergic to genies, baseball bats, Canadian television or iconclasm. For all others, hope you enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Five  
Four More Wishes

Eragon, Saphira, Arya and Orik were traveling through Alagaesia---again, 'cause I'm repetitive with this kind of thing---when Eragon suddenly tripped and fell onto his face.

"Ha! Eragon, just you tripped and fell onto your face!" Arya snickered.

"LOL!" Saphira screamed.

Glaring at them, Eragon picked himself up, holding something in his hand. "I tripped over this stupid old oil lamp," Eragon grumbled.

"Ooh, great! I'm hungry," Saphira said, licking her lips.

She snapped her neck around and grabbed one end of the lamp; Eragon let out a cry and a tug-of-war commenced. "Hey! Stop it! That's mine!"

"Hey, no, give it to me!" Arya said, trying to grab it from them both; its shiny reflective surface, she thought, would be perfect to use as a mirror with which to comb her ever-so-sculpted eyebrows.

"Hey! Stop!"

"Give it!"

"I didn't get breakfast today!"

"Agh, you're all being stupid!" Orik said, and leaped forward, trying to grab the damn thing just to keep the others from fighting about it.

But just then, as the four were stupidly wrestling over this ancient old piece of seemingly-useless crap, a huge spurt of smoke shot out of its end like a rocket. Which was unfortunate because that end happened to be in Saphira's mouth. She sputtered and let out a cough so strong it knocked the others all to the ground, causing the lamp to fall as suddenly a genie materialized before them, letting out cries and trying to wipe a large amount of dragon spit from his vest.

"Augh! And stuff," he said, shaking his head. "What the f-ck?!"

"OMG! A genie!" Arya cried.

"LOL!" Saphira screamed again. 'Cause I just thought it was really funny the first time.

"Yes! I am a genie! And stuff," the genie said. "And now, whomsoever has rubbed my lamp gets three wishes! And junk."

"But---wait, I think we all rubbed it," Eragon said, feeling a lump on the back of his head.

"Oh. Then you each get one."

"What? Wait, why don't we each get three?"

"Because I'm lazy! Yeah."

"Hmm. That's also the reason that this story has gotten to be written in such a quick, hurried way," Orik mused, rubbing his beard thoughtfully.

Hey!

"Oh what? It is!" Arya snapped. "And the updates take _forever!_"

"Now, hurry and make your wishes!" the genie cried dramatically, wiggling his fingers at them mystically before checking his watch. "Seriously, I have a date in a couple of hours. A _hot_ date," he added, glaring at them.

"Guys, we gotta think this through," Eragon said, turning to his friends. "This is a great opportunity we have here! We could use these wishes to overthrow King Galbatorix, free all the slaves in the kingdom, bring peace and prosperity to Alagaesia and---"

"I WISH BARACK OBAMA WAS HERE!" Arya screamed suddenly.

The genie sighed. "Every first wish is a celebrity," he muttered, folding his arms and nodding his head.

_POP!_ A tall, dark-skinned man in a suit appeared, looking confused.

"Uh...what am I doing here?" Barack Obama asked, looking around.

Eragon gaped. "Arya! What did you do _that_ for?! That was a waste of a wish!"

"'Waste of a wish?'" Arya repeated, coming up to the confused man she had summoned and running one finger down the front of his shirt. "How can you call it a waste to summon such a...hot, _amazing_ man into our world?"

She gave the U.S. President a lustful, predatory smile. Barack Obama took a safety-step backward. "Um---heh-heh, I'm flattered, ma'am," he said, trying to force her hands away as she reached up to message his chest, "but I'm actually married---"

"That never kept me away from a Democratic president before," she whispered, taking a step toward him. Barack Obama retreated further, only to find a rock sticking out and blocking his escape. Arya suddenly grabbed him by his ridiculously oversized ears, drawing his head close. "Now kiss me, you godlike ebony Presidential stud!"

And with that she forced his face onto hers and began to kiss him, quite against his will. Eragon gaped in amazement at the sight, before the genie cleared his throat loudly and tapped on his watch. "Um, date in a few hours, I'm gonna need at least two to get ready, and stuff. So, like..."

Eragon motioned toward Arya and Barack Obama; the former now had the latter up against the rock, unable to escape as she did things to him that were making Eragon feel, frankly, a little jealous. "Um, could you, like, stop them first? 'Cause I think if this goes on any longer you're going to legally responsible as an accomplice to something."

The genie sighed. "Alright, and junk."

He snapped his fingers, and with another _POP! _Arya was suddenly in a metal cage hanging from a nearby tree. "Hey---let me out of here!" she cried, shaking the bars and causing her whole prison to sway. Barack Obama leaned against the rock, holding his chest and gasping for air.

"Alright, there. Now, next wish, please."

"Okay," Eragon said, pausing to think. "Now, we've already wasted one, so we need to be careful...we need to think this through logically. I think---"

"I wish I had a baseball bat!" Orik screamed.

The genie shrugged and clapped his hands. With another _POP! _there was suddenly a small club in Orik's hands.

"_ORIK!_" Eragon cried. "That's another wasted wish! What did you do _that_ for?"

"This," Orik said simply. Then he pulled the club back and whacked the still-panting Barack Obama upside the head with it.

"AGH!" he cried, falling to the ground and grabbing his head. "What was that for?!"

Orik shrugged. "I'm a Republican." He leaned the bat back over his shoulder, twirling it a bit like a baseball player. "Now to do to you what you do to unborn babies!"

His face went pale. "Stab me in the brain stem with scissors?!"

Orik blinked. "Well...okay, not _exactly_ what they---oh, whatever. Eat baseball bat, you elephant-eared Commie!"

_BANG!_

"OW! AGH! OOH! STOP THAT! SECRET SERVICE!"

Eragon sighed and facepalmed, turning away from the sight of the dwarf beating Barack Obama with a baseball bat on the sandy desert ground. "Huh...that was a surreal sentence," he muttered, looking up. "Well, at least we still have _two_ wishes we can use."

"Ooh, ooh! Can I go next?!" Saphira asked.

"Well---alright," Eragon said hesitantly. "As long as you don't just wish up some puppies to eat, or something."

"No, no," she said, shaking her head. "_I_ wish that _Total Drama Action_ would start playing early in America!"

The genie pointed and a TV suddenly appeared on top of a nearby rock, turning to Cartoon Network. Saphira let out a squeal and rushed over to it. Eragon's jaw dropped.

"You wasted a wish on a TV show?!" Eragon cried, pulling at his hair.

"Well, do _you _want to wait until the summer to find out if Harold winds up with Leshawna or Heather?" she asked, turning her snakelike head around to glare at him.

Eragon sighed. "I guess not."

"Cool. Then come watch it with me, it's---" She froze. "Wait a minute. Hey, it's the right time---why isn't it on now?!"

"It's not airing here, and stuff," the genie said with a shrug.

Saphira's mouth fell open. "But I just wished it would be playing early in America!"

"Yes," the genie said, patiently, "but do we _live_ in America, or anything?"

"Wha---buh---NOOOOOO!"

She broke down, crying profusely. The genie turned to Eragon. "Well, kid, you're the last one, and junk. What do you want? And crap."

He sighed. "Well, I guess since everybody _else_ wasted their wishes on stupid stuff, it's up to _me _to wish for something useful." He paused, took a deep breath and said, "I wish that King Galbatorix---"

"_ERAGON, STOP! _Don't do it!" Arya called from her swinging tree prison.

He looked up, startled. "Why not?" He crossed his arms sullenly. "I'm not resurrecting John and Robert Kennedy for your amusement, if that's what you're thinking."

"Eh, neither of them were that good anyway," Arya muttered. "What I mean is, you can't overthrow King Galbatorix! If you do, this story will be over, and there are still seven more chapters JoeMerl's supposed to write, not to mention the actual last canon novel!"

Eragon blinked. "Oh man...you're right. I never actually thought about that!"

Orik paused in his horrible, merciless beating to look over at him. "For the good of us all, Eragon, you have to wish for something stupid and selfish!"

"...Can you please stop hitting me now?"

"Will you take Hillary out of the line of succession?"

"I can't do that!"

"Well, then, no!" BANG!

"OW! OW OW OW!"

"Oh, shut up! You read _Twilight_ to your daughter, you deserve this pain!" WHAM! "Plus it's not even actually injuring you, you have a 'JoeMerl doesn't want to be arrested' character shield!"

"I know, but it still hurts! Agh!"

"Stupid and selfish?" Eragon frowned. "Like what?"

"TDA! TDA!" Saphira screamed, clawing at her head and weeping profusely.

"Letting Arya out of this cage! I like that idea!" Arya yelled, shaking her bars.

"Ooh! Wish for a few more liberals. Preferably hemophiliacs," Orik said, grinning an insane, maniacal grin.

"Or you could just make her your sex slave," the genie muttered behind his hand, jabbing a thumb up at the caged elf. "Helgrind, she's already in a cage..."

"HEY! I heard that!"

"I don't know!" Eragon said, looking pained. "I mean, I get any one wish? What should I..." Suddenly his face lit up as he snapped his fingers. "I know!"

* * *

"What do you mean my newest book didn't sell?! Everybody loved the first three!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Paolini, but ever since that _new_ sixteen-year-old writer somehow managed to get published with _his_ crummy fantasy novel..."

* * *

Wow. Making fun of Christopher Paolini, Barack Obama and _Twilight _all in one chapter. I'm gonna get a lotta flames for _this._

Also, disclaimer in case any Secret Service agents are reading: I do not endorse using a genie to conjure up Barack Obama to have dwarves beat him with sticks. It's just a joke, please don't arrest me.

(P.S.: Today is my birthday. I also posted Chapter Eight on my birthday...two years ago. Wow. I gotta move faster with this story.)


	26. A Jihad, Again

Hmm...lots of reviews last chapter. Clearly I need to make fun of the President and _Twilight_ more often. And this story now has over 50 favorites! Sweet. Anyway, yeah, I know, I'm not updating enough, especially since I'm kind of eager to get this story over with...but anyway, here ya go, hope you enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Six  
A Jihad, A-gain

"Ah, back to the pristine paths of Du Weldenwarden," Arya sighed, pushing past the trees and moving nimbly through the brush.

"Ugh. Stupid forest," Orik grumbled. "Why do we have to come here, anyway? We always seem to go wherever _you_ want to."

"Well, maybe if _you _start fulfilling all of the protagonist's sexual fantasies, we'll get to do what _you_ want once in a while."

"You're going to fulfill all of my sexual fantasies?!" Eragon asked, eyes wide. "Even the really filthy ones?!"

She wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "I might, if you buy me something with lots of diamonds," she said teasingly.

"Deal!" Orik sighed and facepalmed.

"Quit complaining. I like the forest," Saphira said. A happy, fluffy, possibly magical bunny ran by her feet; Saphira's head snapped down and it vanished. "Mmm..."

"We're almost there," Arya said happily. "Back to the magnificent leafy palaces of Ellesmera. Now to bask in the wonderful natural habitat, the relaxing, restful days, the California-esque climate of careless apathy to any and all---what the fucking _fuck?!_"

She froze as she moved aside the last tree branch and saw the city come into view. The city that, now, actually looked quite a bit _like_ a city---tall stone buildings, very few trees, and---most horrible of all---elves that were actually _doing something._ That "something" being moving very large blocks of stone towards one of the biggest buildings, which was still under construction.

"What the Helgrind?" Eragon said, jaw dropping.

"Mother!" Arya cried, as Queen Islanzadi walked past, pushing a massive stone block with Oromis and a few other elves. "What has happened to our beloved city?"

"Daughter!" Islanzadi gasped. "Well, um---"

"WE DID!" a massive voice called, freezing everybody in their tracks.

Arya, Eragon, Orik and Saphira all turned and looked up, to see six massive figures towering over them. "Meep," Eragon said, turning pale, his pants suddenly feeling very wet.

"Oh my gods!" Orik paused. "_Literally._"

"I AM GUNTERA, KING OF THE DWARVEN GODS!" the lead figure cried, and then, in a far softer voice, "And you are...?"

"Uh, Eragon Shadeslayer, Gary Stu-slash-protagonist. And these are Arya, the ridiculously amazing elfin princess, Orik the clichéd, token dwarf, and the MacGuffin Saphira."

"Hey!"

"Oh, you know you are."

"Yeah, but it's not nice to _say_ it."

"Whatever." Arya turned back to the deities. "And what are you gods doing here?! Didn't you hear? We elves are enlightened atheists, at least in this story where _Brisingr_ hasn't happened yet. Maybe that will change later."

"Is the author of this story _ever_ going to read that?" Saphira wondered.

Hey, I've got, like, four huge university projects due in the next month. Quit riding my ass! Not every writer gets three school-less years off, you know.

"Well, then isn't writing this chapter at all just a little risky?" Eragon asked, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, the spoiler said there would be something with a god in the third book, so if you accidentally contradict the canon you're going to look pretty stupid to your readers."

Just then, Eragon's clothes transformed into a a fluffy pink ballerina outfit complete with tutu.

"_Agh!_"

Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you just needed a reminder of who the hell's _in charge of this story!_

"Okay, sorry!" Eragon said, turning red as he tried to cover up his humiliating outfit.

"Um, excuse me," Kilf muttered, looking at her watch, "but can we, like, get back to the story here? I have a nail appointment at three."

Oh, sorry. Uh, where were we?

Arya pulled out her script. "Um...'We elves are enlightened atheists, at least in this story where _Brisingr_ hasn't happened yet...'"

Oh, yeah. And then Guntera says:

"We, the gods of the dwarves, have come to put a stop to your blasphemy, elf-princess! We have established our own worship once again among the mortals of this forest."

"Lol what?!"

"Oh sweet, _our _gods are ruling over the elves now?!" Orik giggled. "Boo-yah, Sue-bitch!"

"But---no! That's impossible!" Arya said, stomping her foot like a petulant child. "We're the fuckin' elves, damn it! By definition that makes us better than anyone else, that's how fantasy novels work! We're hot and magical! We bend to _no_ other force!"

"Foolish elf-whore! You think you can exclude yourself from the natural order of the universe simply by declaring yourselves such? I mean, the hubris of it all! You think that just because you have some pitiful magic of your own, that you are above the gods themselves in wisdom and power?"

"Uh..._DUH!_" Arya said, rolling her eyes and turning up her nose. "Like you're so wise and powerful. You're not even smart enough to realize that you don't exist!"

Morgothal and Urur looked at each other and facepalmed simultaneously. Guntera's face was wroth...and stuff, and he proclaimed-eth, "Oh yeah?!"

"Yeah!"

"Well, listen here Miss I'm-So-Smart-Just-Because-I'm-a-Hot-Elf-Mary-Sue!"

"That's _Ms._ I'm-So-Smart-Just-Because-I'm-a-Hot-Elf-Mary-Sue, you sexist asshole!"

_"---_We _'imaginary' _gods have managed to take over the entire elfin civilization! And there's nothing you, your oh-so-enlightened elf subjects, or _anyone_ can do to stop us!"

"Oh, I'd like to test that theory," a new voice said.

Everybody spun around. The trees were suddenly being pushed apart but another group of gigantic creatures, but these ones taller and thinner, though similarly made of raw, elemental power (and stuff).

Queen Islanzadi gasped. "Oh my gods! It's...our gods!"

"_What?!_"

"But I thought the elves were all annoying, preachy atheists," Saphira said, frowning.

"Well, yes," Islanzadi said. "But back in our original homeland, we had a group of gods who ruled over us in a peaceful utopia. But after we realized that they didn't really exist, things got kind of awkward, and since they stubbornly refused to accept their own nothingness, we eventually had to be the mature ones, so we packed up and left."

"Wow. For a race of atheists, I gotta say, you guys are kind of unscientific."

"What elfin trickery is this?!" Guntera demanded, stepping forward to jab the lead elf-god in the chest. (Which was kind of awkward, since the proportions were the same as for mortals---the elf-god's chest was roughly level with Guntera's face.) "Who are you?!"

"I am Manwo, god of the sky!" the elf-god replied, pounding a fist against his chest. "And this is my lovely wife Varde, goddess of the stars, and the rest of the elfin pantheon, the Varal!"

"Hmm. This sounds familiar," Orik muttered, rolling his eyes.

Eragon raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah, but I've probably read more Tolkien than you. And here I thought the religion thing was the one way they were actually _different._"

"We, the Varal, have come to take back our worshippers from thou stocky heathens, and return them once more to the true worship of we, the blessed...us!"

Helzvog scoffed. "_Pfft._ Screw that!"

"Yeah!" Urur said, waving his hand and accidentally knocking down several elves with a sudden blast of wind. "You guys were too much a bunch of pussies to hold onto your own worshippers, _you_ snooze, _you _lose. These guys are _ours_ now."

"You tell 'em, Your Holiness!" Orik cheered.

"Fuck that! _We _owned them first!" Manwo said, coming within a foot of Guntera. "We have the right to take our time fulfilling our will, and that doesn't mean _you_ little freaks have the right to come in here and take our stuff!"

"The elves belong to us!"

"They belong to us!"

"Don't we get a say in this?" Islanzadi asked weakly.

"_NO!_" both pantheons screamed, before turning back to scream at each other.

"Listen here, you divine dick---"

"Apotheosized asshole---"

"Almighty idiot---"

"SHORTY!"

"OH, THAT'S IT!" Guntera turned to his fellow dwarf gods, raising his hammer, since all dwarves carry hammers unless they carry axes instead. "Dwarven pantheon! TO WAR!"

"TO WAR!" Manwo screamed, along with most of the other elven gods.

The two sides rushed at each other, and Eragon, his companions, and all the other elves ran out of the way to avoid their massive feet, several getting squished in the process. Fireballs flew through the air, lightning crackled, the earth began to shake and water began to fly as the two pantheons battled against each other with all the raw power of Alagaesia.

"Eat rock, bitch!"

"Ha! _Your_ writer didn't even think to add a war god! He obviously didn't know a thing about writing a realistic religion!"

"THEY EXTINGUISHED MORGOTHAL! _THEY EXTINGUISHED MORGOTHAL!_"

"This is crazy!" Eragon said, cowering under a tree. Pause. "_And why am I still wearing a tutu?!_"

"Who cares?! _RUN!_" Arya screamed.

And so Eragon and his companions fled with the other elves into the forest as the theomachic war continued behind them.

* * *

**(Meanwhile...)**

The slight sound of wings beat the air as the figure landed on a cloud. "My Lord?"

**"Yes, Gabriel?"**

"I have the newest report from Alagaesia---you were right. Tipping off the Varal worked perfectly. They and the dwarf idols should wipe each other out by the end of the day."

**"Good. And the missionaries?"**

"They should land there in about a week."

**"Excellent. In the meantime, get to work on the Helgrind cult, weaken up their hierarchy a bit. Then, send a nice vision to one of the nomads or something, that should get things ready for the arrival."**

"Yes, my Lord."

Gabriel flew away. God chuckled. **"Ah. Those poor fools. Even Zeus wasn't _this_ easy."**

* * *

Meanwhile, on Earth, Christopher Paolini and Stephanie Myers were eaten by Barack Obama.

**"Wow...really fishing for reviews there, aren't you?"**

I---yes, Sir. *shameface*

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, that's another chapter done...hope you enjoyed. Will try to update at least fairly soon. Please leave a review!


	27. Story Time

Chapter Twenty-Seven  
Story Time

"_Ugh!_"

Eragon stumbled back into Arya and Orik, falling against the wall that blocked their further escape. Durza smirked down at them from atop his tall black steed, his sword drawn and pointed at the heroic trio.

"And now, Shur'tugal, you and your friends are---" He paused, suddenly cocking his head to the side. "...Huh."

"What?" Arya asked, raising one sculpted eyebrow and causing Eragon to swoon.

"...I think we just got updated."

"_WHAT?!_"

"We're not a deadfic?!"

"It's been _six months..._"

"Yes..." Durza stroked his chin in thought for a moment, then shrugged. "_Anyway..._where were we? Oh yeah. _NOW!---_" he suddenly snarled, brandishing his sword again and sending the good guys reeling back again, "it is time for you heroes to _die._"

He swung his blade and suddenly a blast of bloody fire erupted, scorching the wall just as our heroes jumped to the side. Screaming, they ran around the Shade as he continued to blast at them, running back over the (insert wherever they are right now, I don't really care).

"Oh blast it!" Eragon cursed as he stumbled after Arya, "I wish Saphira was here!"

"Where is she anyway?!" Orik cried, as Durza turned his horse around and began to give chase.

"I don't know, the author just needed her gone for this chapter and didn't think about it enough to come up with a plausible reason!"

They ran as fast as they could, but not even Eragon and Arya's super-speshul Elfy-speed was enough when Durza spun around and cried "_Malthinae!_" The three suddenly fell to the ground, unable to rise; the Shade, sneering, jumped down from his horse and walked calmly over to them, his boots tapping slowly across the ground.

"You made me use magic," Durza growled, narrowing his blood-red eyes at his prey. "You'll pay for making the author have to actually look something up in the book. Because _NOW,_" Durza held up one gloved hand crackling with energy, "the time has come to---"

_BEEP-BEEP, BEEP-BEEP, BEEP-BEEP---_

Durza jumped; he quickly held out his arm to examine in his watch (yes, because if Eragon can have an alarm clock, Durza can have a digital wristwatch dagnabit!) His pale face turned paler, his red eyes went wide, and his fanged mouth fell open in a look of utter shock.

"Oh _shit. _Five-fifty---oh _shit shit shit!_ I gotta go!"

He turned and raced back to his horse, clambering into place as Arya managed to half-raise her head. "What, _now?!_ Are you gonna kill us?!"

"Or at least let us go?! Where---"

Durza cracked his whip. "_Yah!_ Hi-ho, Puppyrape, and hurry!"

The horse whinnied and reared up, snorted, then flew off down the path, galloping at full speed into the approaching twilight. Eragon, Arya and Orik looked after him with their mouths hanging open, still magically pinned to the ground.

"..._So_...anyone know how to undo this spell?"

"Nope."

"_Crap._"

* * *

_DONG. DONG. DONNNNNG._

The red-haired woman turned as the big grandfather clock struck six, frowning in a way where her fangs were just visible past her upper lip. But no sooner had the booming stopped, however, that the front door burst open, and Durza rushed into the house, panting.

The woman smiled, putting down the last plate she had been drying and sticking out her cheek for Durza to kiss. "How was work, dear?"

"Oh, it was a long day. Almost got them this time; maybe my spell will keep them pinned to the morning. Now where's---"

"_Da! Da!_"

The two turned as the voice rang out from the other room; the woman smiled. "He's in his room waiting for you."

"Ah, good. We'll talk in a minute, alright my little devil?"

The woman nodded as Durza turned and hurried up the stairs, slipping into the last room on the right. Inside was a spacious nursery, decorated with sky-blue wallpaper with pictures of flayed bunnies and burning smiley faces screaming in terror. Against one wall was a crib, and in that crib stood a little boy with glowing red eyes, slight traces of blood around his mouth and one tiny fang he was using to bite into a teething ring. Next to the crib was a chair with a book on it.

Durza smiled. "Hello there, my little fallen angel," he cooed.

The baby clapped. "_Da!_"

"That's right! And is Little Durza ready for Story Time?"

"Yay! Stowy!"

Durza laughed, picking up the book as he slid into the chair. "Well, let's see, then. _Where's My Cow,_ by Terry Pratchett and Melvyn Grant. '_Where's my cow? Is that my cow? It goes baa! It is a sheep! No, it is not my cow!..._'"

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I know not everyone will get this joke, but if you _haven't_ read the _Discworld_ series, just marvel at the humor of Durza in a domestic situation. ;-)

And _yes,_ I know I have massively neglected this story (and others too, if that makes you feel better). I _am _sorry, especially since I'm _still_ getting tons of attention for this fic (more than 200 reviews and 20,000 hits now! Awesome!) The thing is, I only have a few chapters left and I wanted to pick carefully which ideas I use. I've done that...and now eliminated so many that I have to make up _new _ones. XD But anyway, I hope this chapter was enjoyable...I don't know when the next one will be, but I'll aim for sooner rather than later. Until then, please review!


	28. Screw You, Elves!

**Author's Notes:** Ha! I sure did fool you with that "I'll try to update more frequently" line, didn't I? ^^; Seriously, though, _mea culpa._ I'll try to get more "on the ball" with this three-year-old fic. In the meantime, please enjoy one of my least favorite scenes from the series rewritten for a better moral, and marvel at my use of TV Tropes. ;-)

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Eight  
Screw You, Elves

"Take your place!"

This time it was Vanir who initiated the fight. In a single bound, he crossed the distance between them and thrust his blade toward Eragon's right shoulder. It was easy for Eragon to deflect Vanir's sword, blue sparks flying from the metal as their blades grated against one another.

Vanir landed with an astonished expression. He struck back, and in quick succession rained a score of heavy blows upon Eragon, each of which Eragon dodged or blocked, using Zar'roc's sheath as often as the sword to foil Vanir's onslaught.

Eragon soon realized that the spectral dragon from the Agaetí Blödhren had done more than alter his appearance; it had also granted him the elves' physical abilities. In strength and speed, Eragon now matched even the most athletic elf. (Or at least Vanir, but Eragon assumed he was some sort of elf Olympian or something.) Eragon jumped as high as he could, soaring more than ten feet above the ground before he flipped like an acrobat and came down behind Vanir, facing the direction from which he had started. Which was awesome and, Eragon assumed, looked totally mature and professional given the current situation.

A fierce laugh erupted from Eragon. No more was he helpless before elves, Shades, and other creatures of magic! No more would he suffer the elves' contempt! He charged Vanir, and the force of their blows created gusts of wind that whipped their hair into a tangled disarray. The duel lasted long into the morning, for even with Eragon's newfound skill, Vanir was still a formidable opponent. But in the end, Eragon would not be denied! Playing Zar'roc in a circle, he darted past Vanir's guard and struck him upon the upper arm, breaking the bone.

"_YOWSA! Mommy!_"

Vanir dropped his blade, his face turning white with shock. "By the gods!" exclaimed Orik. "That was the best swordsmanship I've ever seen, and I was there when you fought Arya in Farthen Dûr!"

"I know, I _was_ awesome there too, wasn't I?" Eragon said, grinning toothily at the memory of being so easily out-classed by a girl.

Then Vanir did what Eragon had never expected: the elf twisted his uninjured hand in the gesture of fealty, placed it upon his sternum, and bowed. "I beg your pardon for my earlier behavior, Eragon-san—er, -elda. It seems that your race no longer endangers our cause, what with you being, you know, my own, _better_ race now." In a grudging voice, he added: "Unlike every other human in the world, you are _now_ worthy of the title Rider."

Eragon blinked, staring at Vanir for a moment. Then, to Vanir's relief, he bowed in return—

—and _slammed _the butt of his sword hilt into Vanir's hairless elfin groin.

"_Ach_—_ARGH!_" Vanir gasped, falling to his knees as Eragon rose; he looked up through tear-filled eyes, meeting Eragon's furious gaze. "_What the Helgrind?_"

"Oh, I'm sorry—big stupid human got all violent there, didn't he?" Eragon said in a mocking tone. "Guess my sudden elfin transformation didn't include all those prissy etiquette lessons, didn't they, _huh?_"

He kicked Vanir in the stomach, and the elf let out a cry and fell onto his hands and knees. He looked up at Eragon, still flabbergasted.

"But I—I just _complimented_ you, you—inelfin _brute!_"

"Oh, yeah, _compliment._ You were being _real _nice to me, now that I've got pansy pointy ears and physically impossible super-strength," Eragon said, rolling his eyes. "What, do you think that was _actually_ complimentary? 'You're a credit to your race, boy,' and you think that's _polite?_"

He kicked Vanir again. "_Agh!_ But I—_ugh_—just overcame my prejudice!" the elf protested indignantly. "This is supposed to be the touching moment when you realize I'm not such a bad guy, and stuff!"

"Oh, yeah, because we wouldn't want there to be _one_ elf that the author is actually willing to _admit_ is a jerk-ass," Eragon sneered. "You really think this counts for anything? You only overcame your racism because _I stopped being a different race from you,_ idiot! You _still_ think your race is better than everyone else—you only like me now because _I_ changed _physically,_ but _you're_ still the exact same asshole inside that you were before! 'Oh, you're not black anymore, _sure_ you can join our country club, Mr. Jackson!' 'Oh, look, this Jew-baby has blond hair, we wouldn't want to send _him_ to the gas chambers!' Seriously, _is **this **what counts for character development in this book?_"

Eragon kicked Vanir one last time, right in the face, with enough force to send him flying through the air to land a good ten feet away. The Rider spat angrily at the ground, then spun on his heel, waving his hand. "Come on, Orik, let's get out of here."

The dwarf gaped for another moment, looking from Vanir (who was crying and coughing up blood) and back to Eragon, before falling in step behind the latter.

"...So what, did that ghost-dragon switch you and Murtagh's bodies or something...?"


End file.
